


i won't / you will

by erubeculas, joeri



Series: roleplay inspired [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chatting & Messaging, Healing, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Moving In Together, Mutual Pining, Roleplay Logs, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, Stupidity, cursed food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 103,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erubeculas/pseuds/erubeculas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeri/pseuds/joeri
Summary: the winter of 2010 brought with it the deaths of not one boy but two: christophe gaspard follows his cult to their quickly approaching end and glenn fraldarius is killed in a car accident. miklan loses them both. one comes back to life. two unloved men fall in love.—or: dumbass pines for ten years, “just fucking look at him,” sources are saying.
Relationships: Miklan Anschutz Gautier/Christophe Gaspard
Series: roleplay inspired [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513607
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. froot loops chicken

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a compilation of the roleplay between me and my good friend. it is a modern day fe3h au and christophe and miklan get together (we didn't plan it but it happened!). more details will be given as you read, if you choose to get invested. because this is a record of a roleplay, be mindful that the perspective will switch repeatedly between christophe and miklan rather than being a cohesive piece of writing from an omniscient POV. it will read like a roleplay and not a fanfic in all respects.
> 
> leave the skin on for the discord dms between them.
> 
> this is mostly posted as a means of record keeping for me and my friend but ive been told that others are interested in mine and my friend's modern day rp between them so, if anyone else ends up enjoying this little saga, thank you for your time!
> 
> note: chapters marked with [P] have taken place in the past and not the current day and are flashbacks. theyre accessory to the plot but if you are genuinely interested in what these boys are up to currently, these can be skipped. theyre mostly friends messing around until christophe dies and comes back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an invitation to hang.

  
@ Miklan  
  


christopholes  
fruit loop chicken  
  


* * *

Miklan  
I just woke up can you give me a damn minute before you start being weird  
Why is it GREEN  


* * *

christopholes  
. fruit loops green  


* * *

Miklan  
It looks diseased  
Did you eat it?  


* * *

christopholes  
not without you  


* * *

Miklan  
**Im not eating that**  


* * *

christopholes  
i havent seen you in like 2 weeks  


* * *

Miklan  
If you bring froot loops chicken anywhere near me Ill make it another 2  
Ive been... busy  


* * *

christopholes  
me too man  
its ok we can get   
or sumn  
u never do anything tho what u been busy with  


* * *

Miklan  
Sushi doesnt sound half bad  
Same bullshit as always. If it isnt work, its people  


* * *

christopholes  
you dont wanna talk about it  


* * *

Miklan  
Not really  
I dont even wanna think about it, man. Shits exhausting  
If you want to go out, lets go out. I can do that much  


* * *

christopholes  
cool⠀⠀⠀come over and we'll go to lunch  
and not talk about it  


* * *

Miklan  
Alright. Give me 15 minutes  


* * *

christopholes  
i wont  


* * *

Miklan  
You WILL  


* * *


	2. you make me focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miklan meets up with Christophe at his motel room to take him for sushi.

Miklan jumps in the shower quickly to wash himself and his hair after his dms with Christophe, because he feels like dog shit and probably looks like it, too. Staying at Holst’s place had been simultaneously healing and draining for Mik, so getting out of the house and doing something _normal_ for the first time in a few days sounds more than appealing to him right now (even if it means listening to conspiracies and nauseating recipes for the next few hours).

All in all it takes him about a quarter of an hour to get ready, and he shows up at the others latest motel with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a black parka. He knocks- thuds, more like- on the door with the toe of his boot and awaits a response. _This better be the right address_ , he thinks. _Or I’m kicking his ass_.

Finding motels that were okay with smoking was a must, but they were always shitty back alley holes in the wall. Christophe puts out a cig on the wall, never sure if Miklan’s on one side or not on the _‘I don’t do that shit anymore’_ highway. It’s gonna be smelt on him anyways. Picking at the newest band-aid on his forehead in the mirror (a food oriented injury, don’t ask), Christophe gargles his mouth wash, tugs on his jacket, and then there’s a boot making noise against the big metal door between him and the outside.

Cracking open the door to reveal a chain lock sat defiantly in place, his ornery, deadpan but playful voice lends itself to a peculiar question. “What’s the password?” _It’s fruit loops chicken._

“The password, huh… Let me in before I poke your eye out.” Is Miklan’s ever charming response, bravely wiggling a finger through the gap in the door for emphasis. His voice is as gravelly as always, though there’s evident amusement mixed in that Chris should be able to pick up on.

Christophe grins, though all of his expressions seem to be pretty muted. The man himself has always been something of a loud whisper in a crowded room. He’s ducking down to below Miklan’s height (being the 6’4” bitch that he is) and he captures Miklan’s finger in his own with a smirk. “You can try.”

Like always, the tips of his fingers are all bandaged up. Idiot reasons for it too. Christophe doesn’t delight in violent humor as much as Miklan does, but he does tease at shutting his finger in the door before he actually does close it, unlocking the chain lock and propping the door open with his foot.

“No reason to really come inside unless you want to order the sushi and have it brought here.” The reason, Miklan comes over, is because Christophe doesn’t have a car. He has a bike. Cars mean car insurance. Car insurance means paper trail. Christophe prefers to not exist. Miklan knows this. He should be sympathetic.

“Don’t test me.” Miklan quirks a brow when his finger is pinched, yanking it back with a snort so that Christophe can close and unlock the door without taking a joint off. His hands find their way back into his pockets as he rocks on his feet. “Nah. I’ve been cooped up inside enough over these last few days. I want to go out somewhere.” 

His eyes find themselves wandering to the space behind Christophe. He makes no comment about the state of his room, but does pipe up with a, “You look like you could use some fresh air, too. I’ll drive us.” For as long as he can remember, Miklan has always been the designated driver, so it’s no inconvenience. He got his license way before most of his classmates. People always seemed impressed by how quickly Miklan had breezed through lessons and tests, to which he’d only shrug and reply with a _like it was hard_. For him, it was never a luxury; more of a necessity. Driving meant freedom, and freedom meant time away from home.

“Are you ready to go?”

Oh yeah, the motel looks a mess. It’s not as if Christophe bothers to clean when room service can come do that. The room’s full of takeout boxes, clothes, _his bike_ —”Stir crazy?” he says.

Christophe is probably the opposite of… whatever you’d call those people that chronically require a purse or a backpack wherever they go. He’s got a wallet and the clothes on his body. Smiling lazily, noticing where Miklan’s eyes travel but too deciding to make no comment on it, he ducks on out of the door and lets it shut half-way behind him. Like he really doesn’t care if someone robs him blind.

“Ya,” Christophe answers, monosyllabic and terse before he hops on over the fucking balcony. It’s not far or even dangerous, it’s a second floor motel room with a rickety, waterlogged, metal railing that he passes with no problem. Then he walks to Miklan’s car. Like whatever.

“Something like that.” 

He just steps aside. Miklan _was_ expecting him to head down the stairs, but… oh. When Christophe disappears over the metal railing, he’s left standing there dumbfounded, currently the emotional equivalent of a YouTube video that’s trying to buffer against all odds. Blinking at the empty space where the other once was, he mutters, “Fucking Christ,” before noisily stomping down the steps in pursuit. If he were feeling a little stupider, maybe he would have also tried to pull the same maneuver. He just doesn’t feel like dying today, because that’s inevitably what would end up happening despite the drop being relatively small and definitely not the worst they’ve tried.

The car is already unlocked, so he wastes no time getting in and getting himself situated. He’d left the engine running and the radio playing, albeit at low volume. This car runs so much smoother than his first and the van ever had.

Christophe remembers when they were dumb and they jumped off trees and over rivers and relished those stories of broken bones and eating pizza rolls you found on the gas station bathroom floor. The only thing is that he was always the one most prone to that behavior, and now that they’re all adults (save for one friend tragically left behind, preserved in amber), Christophe is the one who has probably grown up the least. Adulthood doesn’t suit someone like him.

As soon as Christophe is in the seat, he’s cranking the seat back because he’s got long legs, and also he has a chronic need to slouch. “Put something on, I wanna sing in the car.” His hand reaches for his pocket only for him to go stiff and instead sort of… robotically adjust his pants and put his seat belt on. _You don’t need a damn cigarette already, idiot. Just sit in the car like a regular person._

Miklan inclines his head in the direction of the passenger glove box as he clicks his belt into place, giving it a cautionary tug once, twice, just to be safe. For all his recklessness elsewhere and occasional bout of road rage, Miklan is a paranoid driver. It shows in unnecessary rituals and how tightly he grips the wheel. “CDs are in there. Go nuts.” It’s mostly rock. Metal. Punk. Loud music, for loud people. Buried beneath the depths of guitar music are the odd 90s discs, pop discs, discs from flings who’d left their shit in his car and who he’d been too polite to tell them _not_ to play Robbie Williams after he’d fucked them, please god, anyone but him, just put the fucking radio on.

And then the handbrake is released, Miklan is reversing out of the shitty car park littered with potholes and trash, and they’re off. He has some _vague_ idea of where the sushi place is. Most of the good food joints are situated in the same part of town, or maybe that’s just because he never bothers venturing any further than he has to as a creature of habit. He flicks the heater on.

Aw man, Mik, you just know how much Christophe loves Robbie Williams. Jk, actually Christophe’s music taste runs from strange guttural basement noises to something manageable but still hectic like Death Grips, to absolutely abominable trash pop with little variety in between. And, well, Chris _had_ asked Miklan to put something on but, if he’s not going to prioritize it then Christophe’s just going to whip his cracked, beat up iPod out and find something to put on.

And you might say, wait… _iPod_? But it’s for real. Phone contracts come with paper trail. Christophe is getting a new prepaid throwaway phone every few months and it’s stupid and annoying but none of them have space for music.

This beat up old shuffle still gets use… somehow, and as Miklan takes them down the road, likely oblivious to Christophe setting up the aux cord, Chris has got a half-lidded smug smirk on as he blares “Manners” by Ashnikko at top volume.

“I’m hungry as shit,” he says, drowned out by the vocals and general rampage of the song.

In all the time that Miklan has had this car, he’s never once regretted the quality of his surround sound speakers… until now. The first explicit lyric hits and he can physically feel himself aging about 50 years, with an additional two years for every lyric that follows and reverberates afterwards. He takes his eyes off the road for a _split_ second, long enough to blurt out, “Like SANTA?” before he’s back to dutifully- albeit with some difficulty- focusing on not tailgating the car in front. On the Goddess, he wishes someone would compensate him for the occasions that he’s forced to spend with his friends. Holst is well meaning but an undeniable idiot. Chris is a whore packed to the brim with conspiracies. It doesn’t end, really. 

“We’ll be there soon,” he says more to himself than Christophe, brows furrowed. If they get caught in traffic he’s getting out and beating someone up.

The only thought in Christophe Gaspard’s mind since 1998 has been to make everyone around him regret his presence, jokingly of course. This day is no exception. He has as much metalhead in him as Miklan does, but really, sometimes he has to fuck it flip a table go bananas.

Miklan’s interjection makes Christophe _lose_ it, and he’s kicking his feet beneath the glove box with a howlish laugh. If there’s anyone that can make Chris screech like that, it’s Miklan and his mouth. All he can do is laugh, high pitched and hyena until he gets the giggles out, and then he turns the music down just enough to actually hear what Miklan says to him.

“Great, I need to see you get your fat sausage fingers all over some spicy tuna roll and enjoy yourself for the first time in eons.”

The hyena laugh makes him roll his eyes, but even Miklan with all his stubbornness and stoicism can’t help but grin at how outright goofy he sounds in the moment. He only shakes his head and makes a quiet noise of disbelief, likely drowned out in equal measure by the shrieking and occasional repeat of _‘That dick tastes like Yankee Candle.’_

“ _Ha ha_. Convenient, because you’re not getting anything. You can sit and watch me eat it all.” Bastard. He’s joking, obviously. He flicks the indicator on and takes a left. “I just want some fucking rice, dude. I don’t even care what with. You ever crave something really bad? That’s been me these last few days.” Thankful as Miklan is for Holst’s hospitality, his cooking leaves… a lot to be desired. Needless to say, Miklan had taken up meal prep for the weekend that he’d elected to stay there, though his usual favourites were still pretty far off the menu.

Yes, in spite of how often Christophe makes dry comments out of the side of his mouth, has all the volume and cadence of a slightly less nasal Cr1tikal, and rarely varies up his signature dopey smile, he laughs like a fucking gremlin. It’s the one loud thing about him. When Miklan comments on only wanting rice, he lifts a brow, making a second aborted motion toward his pocket before instead just, gripping the seat.

“I have more than enough money to pay for myself, thanks,” he says. “Yeah, I crave shit a lot.” _My fucking cigarettes, for one._ Chris is manspreading something fierce, evidenced by when one knee is against the door and the other is touching the gear shift. The man sits like a spider monkey more than a person, and he mutters, “I been craving a distraction. Some sweet chirashizushi is just a means to get that.”

In his seat, Miklan rolls his shoulders. They’re not far off now. “Don’t blame you. How you sit cooped up in motels all days is beyond me. I’d have gone batty a long time ago.” Not that Christophe is doing this for any reason other than necessity. He knows that if he had it his way, things would be a lot different. He’d legally have personhood, for one - for another, he’d probably be living under better conditions and with a busier social circle. Hard to maintain friendships when the government declared you dead 9 years ago. Even Miklan had struggled with the concept of reconciliation at first. He vaguely recalls throwing a glass in Christophe’s general direction and watching it shatter on the wall behind instead. Welcome home! 

Now, he swats lightly at Christophe’s knee with the back of his hand. “Can you move? If I get stuck in second gear the car is going to shit itself.” From time to time he spares him glances from the corner of his eye. He quirks a brow. “What’d you keep reaching at your pockets for? You’d better not have brought anything weird.”

Christophe, for all of his conspiracy theory nuttery, has always avoided getting too sucked in, turning too tinfoil. The way to observe any and all theories is of course with a grain of salt. It’s why despite his occasional tendency to send a funny thought provoking question, he’s never sticking to a thought for too long. It’s about finding the truth, keeping your mind creative, exploring possibilities, questioning everything.

Sitting alone for too long, just in his head, in a motel, no friends, no nothing, _it kinda sucks_. Christophe has the presence of mind to know he’ll end up weird and strange if he doesn’t get the hell out more. He can attend protests and not sign anything because the signature of an invisible man isn’t worth anything. He can keep an under the table job and try to keep busy but… he doesn’t have a life outside of Miklan and Holst anymore.

These days, if he goes dark for two weeks at a time, it’s not a good thing. Being here, in this car? Being in the presence of someone who can know he lives and breathes… it’s good. Thinking to himself that it’d be great if more people knew, he mouths more than says, “yeah, me too.”

And then he lifts his knee, because he’s not about to test the patience of a man with his track record. “Do I look like I brought something weird, Mik?”

“You tell me.” They’re starting to slow somewhat, with Miklan evidently in search of somewhere to park up. He doesn’t mind if there’s a slight walk to the restaurant because it gives the two of them a chance to stretch their legs before being seated once more. Granted, it’d be far more pleasant if there weren’t still remnants of frost on the ground and the evening chill threatening to creep in with the days getting shorter, but what can you do.

“I don’t care what it is, as long as it’s not food you made. Or a bug. You used to do that all the damn time.” He lifts his hand from the steering wheel to gesture with his index finger. Miklan makes a face at some dude who steals the parking spot he was eyeing before he continues with, “I mean, so did I, but that’s not the point.”

“Oh, so Miklan ‘check out this stinkbug I’m gonna shove in my brothers hair’ Gautier is gonna preach to us,” he snorts. Like yeah, the bug was for Sylvain but guess who still had to see it? Just downright offensive of Miklan to do that sorta thing while calling Christophe a freak for eating worms when they were seven. Because, hey, _I’m weird but not a sadist._

Watching idly as Miklan cruises around for a parking spot, Christophe rubs his fingers between his eyes—his bandaged ones from constantly burning his hands on the stove, on the oven, on lighters and lightbulbs and—”it’s just a pack of cigarettes,” he murmurs.

Because, really. Smoking is a vice. It’s not that bad. It’s not super bad when anyone smokes but. Maybe he knows why he’s anxious to say it. Maybe it’s because the man runs his lungs like a fucking chimney and his boss has been shitty about it. But, hey. He can feign ignorance at first.

“God, I want tempura. Do you want tempura, Mikelodeon?”

“I’ll preach all I want and you’re gonna listen.” In all his twenty seven year old wisdom, Miklan pokes his tongue out just because it feels right. Whilst he’s eaten and seen his friends eat countless questionable items, he’s never eaten a bug in his life and it’s yet again one of the many things he thinks he should be reimbursed for. A payout for people who haven’t eaten worms, or an ant, or whatever. 

“Is that it?” He seems almost surprised by that, face screwed up. They finally drive by a space- fuck _yes-_ to which Miklan pulls in, straightens the car out some, then a little more, before deciding that’s good enough. If anyone has complaints, they can take it to him personally. The engine is turned off with a twist of the key and he huffs. “Fuck. If you want to smoke, smoke.” Miklan leans down to retrieve something from the side pocket. It’s… a packet of Marlboro. He brandishes it between his thumb and forefinger. “Did you think I was gonna chew you out over it, or something?” The look he makes is a _duh_ and _seriously?_ combo. Into his pocket they go. 

“Tempura. And yakitori.” The thought of food has him zoning out momentarily, but he’s quick to snap out of it. He pats Christophe on the shoulder before opening the door and clambering out. “Let’s go, Christopholes.”

“Oh, fucking thank god jesus christ obama—” Christophe is whipping out his Luck Strike no-filters like his life depends on it, like a man stranded in the desert, and he predictably burns his dumbass piece of shit fingers on the light before he fumbles to shove it into his mouth.

First inhale, half the fucking stick gone. Wow. Funny because for as chill as Christophe is, you will never find a better indicator of how his mood has been lately. He exhales and the car is Stephen King’s The Mist until Miklan opens up the door.

“Maybe,” he says. “Been chewed out for it lately.” He doesn’t say by who, and then he hops out of the vehicle with all the enthusiasm of a kid on his birthday.

Christophe’s stomach hurts. Don’t think about birthdays. Think about raw seafood. Think about scallop tempura. _Oh, fuck yeah_. You can’t smoke in the restaurant but that’s fine because he’s two-third’s done with the damn thing before they’re halfway across the parking lot. Bad week? _Great week._

Raising the key over his shoulder, the car is locked without so much as a glance back. If the smoke hasn’t cleared by the time they return, then, well, that’s a problem for a later them. “Can’t imagine by who.” He retrieves a cigarette of his own, sticking it between his lips and patting his pockets in search of a lighter. 

Miklan doesn’t smoke as often as he used to, but it’s one that he never managed to shake in full. He justifies it with a poor _I only smoke when I’m stressed_ and when people point out that he’s always smoking, the wittiest rebuttal he has is a spat _mind your business_. The smell and act of smoking is comforting to him in itself, frankly more of an idle habit and a means of soothing frayed nerves than anything else at this point. Why the thought arises now he’ll never truly know, but he’s reminded of Sylvain talking about menthols. Did his brother smoke? Does he smoke? The Gautiers always seem to share bad habits more than good ones. He shoves the thought aside as promptly as he’s walking.

“Lend me a light, will you? I can’t find mine.”

“S’not important.” I mean, really, it’s not. Christophe doesn’t want to talk about his dickhead boss with his dickhead preferences for Christophe not coming to work smelling like clouds of nicotine. He just knows that lately, breathing’s been kind of hard. It’d be nice to cut back. Miklan isn’t the person he goes to when he wants to cut back on literally anything, though, except maybe cooking.

“Ya,” he responds predictably, his stick figure legs doing a shiver in the late afternoon to early evening air. The cigarette is warm and the same jacket he’s been wearing since before he ‘died’ is more than comfy.

Pausing an inch in front of Miklan, Christophe flicks his cigarette ash into the ground and sucks a little, getting those bright red embers glowing at the end of the stick and then he bumps ends with Miklan. His cigarette lights and Christophe smirks. 

“They’re not gonna let us take these inside,” he remarks. “Chug that shit so we can get a nice table. It’s a busy night if the parking lot is anything to go by.”

“Whatever you say,” he mumbles. He’s not about to launch into a lecture about withholding information or clinging to vices. One, it’d make him a terrible hypocrite considering he smokes like a chimney on the worst days and neglects to tell anybody anything, ever. Two, it completely defeats the purpose of coming out here to have a good time and forget their woes for a few hours if he’s just adding more stress on top of pre-existing stress.

When Christophe steps forward, Miklan only watches with a quiet sort of fascination, embers warmly illuminating their faces in the small, shared space. The first drag he takes is deep and hungry, exhaling from his nose as he glances upwards in thought. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a sec.” A delay of a few minutes won’t kill them. Ash is flicked away from the tip, and he scratches his cheek with his free hand. Part of him kind of wishes he’d forked out for a taxi, because it occurs to him that a drink sounds really, really good right about now.

Now, drinks. Drinks they have here. Drinks they can definitely order but Christophe has never been the type to get off his face. If he does… hey. He bikes. Also, sleeping in a car doesn’t sound bad to him. This side of town they don’t tow cars in parking lots since the occurrence is so damn infrequent, no one checks.

Christophe has not heard head or tail of drinks, though, and is merely huffing the remainder of his smoke before he heads inside. He doesn’t smoke with filters cause filters are bad on their own, and he’d rather just get the whole stick’s worth of nicotine. He reduces his trash and carbon footprint in most ways, though, by not having a car and always recycling. He’s doing the planet a favor when he swallows the remainder of the cigarette and blows the smog out of his nose like a modern day dragon.

Cracking his neck like he’s about to snap it off his shoulders, Christophe sighs and the aching silence provokes him on accident. “Ashe’s birthday was the other day.”

He’s not sure what catches him off guard more; the fact Christophe swallows the cigarette with such a disgusting nonchalance that suggests this isn’t the first time, or the sudden change of topic. Miklan’s nose wrinkles in evident disgust as he finishes the last of his own, which he decidedly does _not_ consume, and instead throws onto the ground to be stubbed out with his heel. 

_Did you go and see him?_ is a pretty redundant question, since Miklan already more than knows the answer to that. He mulls it over as they walk inside and await a member of staff to get them seated. “How old is he now?” Is what he says instead, glancing around with a childlike impatience now that food is just within his reach. Ashe wasn’t a bad kid, from the little Miklan can remember of him. Somewhat of a hardass. Had a sense of humor about him. Loved his brother wholly, undeniably, and the feeling was always reciprocated tenfold. They just seemed to _click_ in a way that Miklan never did with his own sibling.

Then again, it’s not like he can blame anyone but himself for that.

Yeah, Christophe does this often. The ashes in his mouth could be the most heinous part, but when you smoke as often as he does, your tongue _already_ thinks it’s an ashtray, so the actual thing doesn’t shock your taste buds. Grinding his teeth to and fro, Christophe buries his fingers in his jacket. Whatever anxiety attack he could’ve had over this conversation is leveled, tempered by the nicotine in his blood, and by the fact that Miklan doesn’t ask stupid questions.

“Twenty-two,” he says, and part of him wants to pretend he doesn’t know that as clearly as he does. Y’know, when you’re close to a family member and you jokingly fumble about it, like ohhh… mom’s 45 or 46, give or take a year.

No, October 17th is a holiday he’s looked forward to with a sick kind of compunction every year for nine years. Christophe has it circled in every calendar he’s ever owned.

Once they get seated down, Christophe finds that he doesn’t know… what to say. Which, of course. That’s great of him to bring up a topic like that and then not continue the line of thought.

Miklan will ask, though, because he’s not the type of guy to let a conversation die and get awkward. Also because he’s smart. He _knows_ sometimes you can’t talk but you can answer questions.

Once they’re seated, he shrugs his coat off and lets it cushion the backrest of his chair. He’s wearing the same shit as he always does beneath it; unbuttoned black shirt, sleeves rolled up, that ever present silver chain hanging loosely around his neck as though keeping his head firmly glued to his shoulders. It was a gift, a long time ago - some small gesture of teenage sentimentality that had grown to be one of his greatest comforts in adulthood. 

“Twenty-two.” He parrots, sounding vaguely distant as the magnitude of that sinks in. It’s been nine years since… well, everything, frankly. So much happened in such a short span of time that Miklan doesn’t care to untangle here and now in the middle of some crowded sushi restaurant. Both of their worlds had been shattered back then for different reasons, and their siblings had been left picking up the pieces to a mystery they still didn’t have the answers to. “Damn. Where does the time go…” Down the shitter, apparently. Miklan mindlessly drums his fingers on the table, picks at the loose pieces of wood inbetween trying to think of what to say. He can be blunt and abrasive, but he has some shred of tact about him.

“Doesn’t feel that long ago that he was staying up past bedtime and asking for oranj juice.” A pause. Miklan glances over at Chris, gauging his expression. “You know what he’s doing these days?”

It’s an inadvertent _‘have you checked up on him?’_

We all know Christophe is a bit of a whore. He’d probably be glimpsing his fat irises all over Miklan’s amazing cleavage if not for the fact that he was hardcore in _I’m sad about my brother_ town. Maybe later. Maybe after he’s gotten enough soy sauce in him to turn him into a ball that can be rolled home in lieu of a vehicle. Christophe’s glazed vision peers over the menu, realizing he wants the same shit he gets every damn time: tempura, tempura, and more tempura.

Oh, and some ebi nigiri.

“Yeah,” he repeats when Miklan does. He can tell that his friend’s desperately trying to pad the space and he doesn’t blame him. It’s a fucked up thing to talk about. Christophe hadn’t meant to bring it up. Sometimes smoke breaks do that. It’s like he needed something to loosen him up enough to breathe about it.

Christophe’s always in need of something to help him breathe. Thinking about Ashe’s gentle smile, lips curled into something vaguely devious in a street rat capacity but still so… fresh and kind, like a rat that couldn’t hurt a flea. He was a tongue spat out in teenage defiance and a warm embrace on Christmas mornings. Ashe was accepting of the greens shoved onto his plate and accepting of everything Christophe failed to be.

He’s the freckles on his cheeks and the last remaining branch on his tree that he’s got. Christophe swallows hard, telling the waiter he wants water before saying, “no clue.” He smiles absently, the canvas of his face quite pale and blurry. “That old gc’s on my phone still but I fear if I were to open it…”

The man doesn’t finish his sentence. He sips the water given to him and he ogles the shoryu ramen.

To that, Miklan initially says nothing. He asks the waiter for a pepsi when they pass by, because water sounds entirely unappealing right now and any sort of booze is a firm no given the responsibility he has to get them both home safely.

He’s swiping at the condensation on his glass with his thumb when he speaks again, tone lacking some of that usual harshness. “I get it. You can’t risk that.” Unlike Miklan, Christophe doesn’t get the luxury of so much as even lurking. He’s not supposed to exist, period. Miklan, on the other hand, whilst not particularly welcome, isn’t a literal dead man walking. “For what it’s worth…”

The menu is picked up and scanned over. With all that talk of tempura, he’s probably going to order himself a helping so that he doesn’t scrounge for any scraps from Chris (not that there’ll be any in the first place). Yakitori is still on the mind. Nigiri also sounds good, right about now. “I peek in, sometimes. Hell if I know what’s going on in there half of the time. But he seems alright,” he offers with a shrug of his shoulder. He’s alive, he’s well; sometimes that knowledge is all you can ask for when physicality is unattainable. 

In an attempt to lighten the convo, he adds, “The kids in there are insane. I don’t know if I’m getting old, or what, but they make me feel like I’ve got brain damage.”

Oh, it hadn’t… occurred to Christophe in the slightest that someone could have seen him and what he’s up to, especially not Miklan of all people. Maybe Holst, who’s a bit more socially inclined, who’s a tad more polished and knows how to talk in a group setting. Perhaps him but… not Mik. It’s then that his typically sedated, woolly expression blossoms up into a gaze of revelation. Like a bolt from the blue, Christophe finds that the saying’s really true: there’s no more than six degrees of separation from any two people on Earth.

“You’ve seen him,” he says, blankly, not a question nor a comment. It’s almost like… a speech muttered from sleep.

Christophe swallows, fingers itching at the table. His eyes, tea green and yearning, appraise Miklan’s expression, the rest of his words slipping in one ear and out the other. He whispers, then, “I’m glad he’s alright…” _without me._

His eyes tear away from the menu in favor of studying Christophe - really, truly _looking_ at him properly for the first time since he arrived outside his motel room. Despite that momentary flash of alertness, he’s now back to appearing dazed and lost far away in his own thoughts. Miklan’s jaw sets as he ponders if he wants to be blunt, or to continue to beat around the bush for the rest of the evening in hopes that Christophe will get the general idea, or perhaps reach some sort of epiphany of his own accord. 

“You miss him.” Is what he starts with. His tone leaves no room for debate, though somehow he doubts Christophe would dare to argue against such a statement. It’s clearly paving the way for something bigger to follow. Beneath the table, Miklan is jiggling his leg out of restlessness for both food and the conversation ahead. Where the hell did the waiter go…

“Hell, I’m sure he misses you too.” In the end, he just sighs. Fuck it. Miklan leans forward slightly and lowers his voice so as not to be overheard by anyone nosy at surrounding tables. “Look, I’ll only ask you this once, because I really don’t wanna be the guy who gets on your ass on a night out. But have you thought about what you’re going to do with yourself? You can’t seriously live in isolation for the rest of your life. That shit’s not healthy, Chris. It’s obviously eating at you.” His expression is one of concern, brows drawn together and lips pursed. Miklan isn’t the most emotional person, no, but he’s not blind to when someone is hurting. Christophe’s childhood airheadedness has nowadays morphed into something closer to detachment, to disconnect.

_“You miss him,”_ Miklan says, like he has to tell Christophe, like Christophe doesn’t already know, like he’s just dragging the emotion from his throat so it’s there on the table, bleeding out, in the way of sushi and in the way of their tempura. Where’s the fucking waiter. Christophe really needs that drink now. All these thoughts strangle him, rob him blind of the security he’d been hoping for tonight. Just a distraction, all he had wanted was a distraction. Miklan’s good at that. Miklan always does that but tonight…

Christophe’s bony fingers, bad at cooking and good at linking little kid’s wrists with his own, walking down neighborhood blocks for trick-or-treating—they flex and squeeze around his water and he sighs. His emotions are dim, like a lamp that’s had a dark, heavy shade sat on top of it, but they’re aching through all the same. He says, “yeah,” and he doesn’t have to.

“This isn’t about me, though,” he insists. “He deserves an apology from me.” It feels, right. Being in Ashe’s life feels wrong. This life of solitude is correct for him, deserving. His father’s living through so much worse. It’s all his doing. Bringing his body to the light will cause pain. If he exists, Lonato martyred himself for no reason. His life was meant to be tossed away.

And yet… Miklan tries to appeal to his own sorrow. Nights spent driving himself mad with YouTube videos, Netflix documentaries, forum blog posting until he’s sick in the head with strange ideas and loneliness. It shouldn’t work better than the truth of what should be done: Ashe deserves that apology. So does his father. It’s actually his desire for pain and punishment that drives Christophe to say, “I’ve thought of it a lot, coming clean to them.” _Giving up this chase._

_Letting Ashe hate the man who lived rather than love the boy who didn’t._

There’s some shitty bitter irony to be found in all of this, he’s sure of it. Their circumstances are so eerily similar, yet so far apart at the same time; one brother desperate to give an apology but lacking the means, another desperate to bury his head in the sand and pray it all goes away despite having every opportunity to seek resolve. In that regard, Miklan is a coward and just as selfish as he was back then when he made mistake after mistake after mistake. Meanwhile, Christophe suffers at the hand of one wrong decision made after careful manipulation from those he trusted, experiencing never ending losses with no way to prevent them as a result.

It’s unfair, it’s twisted, and he knows it. The world is cruel to people who are too kind. The world has been cruel to Chris. 

In the end, Miklan sits back. He mulls that response over with a sip from his drink. “Except it is about you both,” he fires back. “You don’t have to torture yourself to apologize.” Laying low is a necessity. Deliberately keeping himself from happiness, less so. It’s evident what he wants, and yet something keeps him from reaching out for it. Miklan isn’t quite sure _what_ , nor does he intend on asking outright. He knows better than anyone that some emotions are best left untouched until ready, especially if they’ve been steadily stewing as is. 

He picks at one of the chains on his necklace, rubs it idly between his thumb and forefinger. “But you haven’t yet.”

This conversation gets broken up by the waiter finally returning to them, oblivious to the thick air and smiling with his pen and pad out for them both. Christophe takes in everything that Miklan has said, keeping a silence as he considers the possibilities. Could he really come forward to Ashe and not ruin himself, ruin _him_ , ruin this carefully constructed balance that he’d cared for years?

“I’ll take five orders of the scallop tempura,” he says robotically. Each order is two pieces. Ten pieces of scallop tempura is good, but not nearly enough. “Also, three orders of the ebi nigiri and a spicy maki.”

Christophe is good at appearing put-together, which sounds fake when you consider the man’s a living raccoon on two legs that eats cigarettes for breakfast and other people’s left-overs for dinner. Emotionally, he’s something of a mess but… not the loud kind—the small, easily smothered kind.

Once Miklan has finished ordering and the waiter is out of sight, out of mind, he examines the way Miklan’s been rubbing his chains together. The locket Christophe’s got tucked under his twenty-four layers has a single photograph of Ashe inside it. Mentally, he’s doing the same stim-like behavior, and he finally says… “I ruined things, Mik.”

Shrugging, shoving the menu to the far side of the table, he drums his wrapped up fingernails against the table. “I don’t want to be back in his life,” he fibs, “that’s presumptuous of me.” Christophe picks at his bandages. “I just want him to know the truth, because he’s owed that.”

_And because this life hurts._ Christophe has been avoiding Miklan’s eyes but he glimpses up at him now, seeing that there’s concern brimming there, and Christophe doesn’t know why the thought spooks him so much. They’re friends, so isn’t it natural? Maybe it’s something else, but Christophe shivers and goes, “when I’m ready to drop this run, I’ll do it.”

Simpering wide and plastic, ear to ear, he utters achingly, “wanna make a pact, Mikelodeon?”

_Bullshit_ is his first thought, though he’s polite enough to at least keep that in despite the fact his expression practically screams it regardless. Miklan can tell that he yearns for the presence of his younger sibling once again, in the same way that Miklan silently yearns for a loving family unit that could have been. Just because it remains unspoken and hidden deep within doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist in some shape or form, doesn’t mean it doesn’t manifest in behaviors that you aren’t entirely aware you’re performing on a conscious level. Everything has to bubble to the surface at some point.

It’s a fact he learnt the hard way, having spent the last few days battling off tears and internal conflicts he didn’t even know he had. He’d chalk it up to Holst just being ‘like that’, though he can’t say for certain he wouldn’t have spilled anyway with how many buttons had been pushed (slammed, feels more appropriate). All that changed was how he handled the following crash and burn.

“That’s a start.” He says, and he doesn’t want to voice the skepticism that’s there because doubt is the last thing Christophe needs from one of the two people he has to confide in. Miklan blinks when his gaze is finally met. He’s not particularly offended by the lack of eye contact. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say it’ll be easy, but you probably already know that. Just think of it as… ripping off a band-aid. It fucking hurts at the time, but you’ll both be giving old wounds a chance to breathe, or something.” As he says that, he finds himself glancing at the array of bandages on Christophe’s hands. He hadn’t particularly paid much attention to them before, what them being shoved into his pockets or moving at a dizzying speed. Christophe just never seems to sit still. Now, though, they’re on full display, and he can’t help but to wonder where each came from.

Apprehensive, he speaks slowly. His eyes narrow. “…What kind?”

The slightest of starts is all Christophe can manage. For some reason this year feels like the straw that’s went and broken the camel’s back. It’s been eight birthdays and not a single time had Christophe given honest to god consideration to the suggestion… but there’s fright in the idea of double digits, ten years since Glenn, ten years since he left, ten years since his life was normal. Fuck, does he crave some kind of normal. Christophe can feel his ghost clog up his throat and he’s not sure he can breathe.

Oh, man he really can’t. Miklan continues to talk and Christophe, as calm as ever, sips his water and closes his eyes. It’s fine. _It’s fine._ Breathe in, breathe out. It’s okay. This life has sustained him so far. Blinking back up at Mik, he nods. It’s going to hurt. It’s supposed to hurt. That much makes sense to him. He doesn’t expect forgiveness, just an admission of the truth.

Christophe is easy to talk to about this. Miklan’s made gentle suggestions for years and years, this just being the most forward. Miklan… is not. The moment Christophe says _pact_ , Miklan is screwing his eyes up at him and talking guarded with a steep tenor in his voice. Christophe closes his fists up, one scratching his neck while the other rolls uselessly against the table.

“Maybe we both can…” _y’know, call it quits, right some wrongs, fix all this._ “…do some reconnecting.”

And here comes the door in the face.

Somehow, he should have expected that. His fist bunches in the chain much in the same way his mother would clutch at her pearls when he trudged through her freshly cleaned living room in muddy boots, or dropped the latest string insults he’d been saving just for her. The difference between Miklan and his mother is that Miklan isn’t about to throw a shoe at Christophe’s head.

Listening, Miklan can do. Dishing out advice of questionable quality, Miklan can do. Being told what to do, on the other hand… he’s never particularly taken kindly to it, and all the more when it pertains to sore subjects. He isn’t _angry_ with Christophe, because the suggestion is posed innocently enough - they’re also in the middle of a restaurant which isn’t exactly ideal for popping off if you want to finish your meal without being thrown to the curb, as Miklan has discovered in past, but that’s neither here nor there. Rather, he’s unsettled and displeased with the thought. 

“No,” the reply is brisk, blurted out without much thought behind it out of sheer instinct. His expression quickly shifts from annoyance to uncertainty. An exasperated sigh leaves his lips. “I know what you’re getting at. I do. I just…” _Am fucking terrified. Don’t know where to begin. Am worried that I’ve left it too late, because there have been so many opportunities for me to do this and not one did I take._ “Don’t know if it’s a good idea. You and Ashe were close. It’s different.”

The rejection is swift, definite, and Christophe doesn’t know why he feels such sudden heartbreak at the sound of it. One finger swirls aimlessly around a thread of hair. Christophe knew it was coming, and he doesn’t even have stake in this affair. Unlike most people who might prod a bit more than that, Christophe hasn’t the energy, at least not right now. He doesn’t feel good, in the easiest to word way. 

Christophe won’t meet Miklan’s eyes. Maybe… Christophe’s hands wring one another out before they find themselves in his pockets again— _maybe_ it just hurts to be told that no, they’re not the same. Christophe has leaned on this, felt as though there’s not quite as big of a chasm between him and the rest of the world if there’s someone who gets it.

Unless Miklan doesn’t. Unless he’s so blinded by his own ache that he thinks in any way, shape, or form that reconnecting a rickety bridge is harder than trying to rebuild an entirely new one where one was once torn down. Christophe thinks momentarily… _god, what the_ fuck _are you talking about_ , before he shrugs. The motion is noncommittal, when he nods.

“You’re right,” he lies. “Sorry.” And the apology comes out perfunctory. Christophe’s eyes swing to the waiter as he sees him bring the first of many trays. The nigiri is first, obviously, as it is raw. The tempura comes later. Christophe plucks the chopsticks apart and says nothing at all.

There’s a wince. Christophe’s entire aura changes so rapidly that it feels like he’s been jabbed in the ribs and jabbed again in the stomach. The person before him right now is almost unrecognizable, a world away from the Chris he’d been with no less than an hour ago, laughing and joking around in his car as though between them they didn’t have a care in the world. Even when he tries to break things gently, Miklan can just never seem to say the right thing. Guilt tugs at him, so he opens his mouth to speak, and…

The waiter appears, forcing Miklan back into silence to stare at the table with a grim expression. Whilst he’d been looking forward to food initially, a sour taste sits in his mouth that he can only think to try and wash away with a swig of his drink. The fizz hits his throat, and he wishes it was the slight burn of a rum or vodka instead. _Fuck driving. Fuck the car. Fuck me._

He picks up his own chopsticks, pulling at them slowly until he gets that satisfying _snap_. “Don’t apologize, dipshit,” he mumbles, resting an elbow on the table and his cheek on his palm. Frankly, he wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. This was supposed to be a night to forget about their crap, not pile on more baggage. “You didn’t do anything.” He plucks up a salmon roll and stuffs it into his mouth in some poor attempt to soothe himself. Hurrah for reunions.

Honestly, Christophe prefers to not lie, at least not where the actual state of his mood is concerned. It’s hard for him to not show it on his face, the disappointment and the chagrin at being so instantly blackballed. Putting on a brave face for the waiter, easy. Trying to mask his emotions to his literal only friend’s face and pretend he’s not in a shitty way now? Not something he’s remotely interested in. If it makes Miklan uncomfortable, well, he can say so. He’s got a mouth. They live with their choices and their words.

If nothing else, Christophe takes a gentle win in the form of Miklan’s benign bitching. He’s griping out of habit. Christophe can decipher his shit, most of the time. Clicking his chopsticks together, he takes to dipping a stack of shrimp and rice into a dipping cup of soy sauce before tossing it whole into his mouth.

Cold, slimey, flavorful, _umami_. Christophe’s chest aches. Ashe taught him that word.

“Fuck sake, Miklan,” bleats Christophe in some kind of defeat. “Get us a bottle.” In preparation for the no, “get _me_ a bottle.”

Miklan glances up, somewhat caught off guard by the abrupt break in silence. “Wuh?” There’s a piece of tempura hanging from his mouth. It’s swallowed, and he licks at his lips. The correction was a necessary one, because he _would_ have said no to a shared drink despite the intense craving for it. Miklan knows better. If Christophe wants to drink, though… well, that’s another matter entirely. A mild sense of envy almost holds him back, but remembering how quickly Christophe had broken his gaze just moments prior prompts him to guiltily flag down the waiter to request a bottle of booze. 

And some more pepsi. Please.

Despite the shit mood, he will admit that the food here is damn good, and he’s making a mental note in the back of his brain to try out some of these things for himself back home. Cooking is always something he’s found joy in, though few people know of it. He’s hardly the sort you can imagine willingly standing behind a stove and experimenting with full meals. The chopsticks are picked up once again and he moves in for a piece of spicy tuna. 

Perhaps it’s the beginnings of a full stomach that’s putting him in a better mood, or actually having time to think beyond blurting out a rejection, but Miklan pipes up once again. He speaks slowly, like he has to really force himself, “…The pact.” Go on. He’s chewing thoughtfully, a little frown on his face. “If you, uh… we went ahead with it. What would be the pact deadline.”

Oh, good: a nice Japanese lager. Christophe has to get somewhere looser, fast. Pouring it into the second glasses offered to them both (even as Miklan ignores his), Christophe knocks back two… three of them before he even entertains the mere idea of speaking up again. Talk about cold, and his face is flushed, the color of the salmon but he doesn’t seem much different for it. Christophe is an acceptable tipsy. He _doesn’t_ go off the walls.

Relaxing a bit more in his seat, tossing tempura back into his throat like the sides of his mouth are goal posts, Christophe considers simply _drinking_ the soy sauce itself, it’s just so fucking good. Hiding a belch behind his hand, Christophe’s in his own little zone until Miklan says something… that sounds vaguely like a compromise.

_Miklan? Compromise?_

Curtly, “two months,” he says in a clipped tone. Christophe’s attention still does not meet with Miklan’s, as if chronically avoiding getting suckered into being let down again. In Chris’s humble opinion, Miklan’s never done anything worthy of letting anyone down, ever… except for refusing to make the simplest of apologies.

“Before this year is done.” _I’m terrified of the ten year mark, Mik. Aren’t you?_

“Fucking hell,” is all he says, forcefully dunking and swirling a piece of food into his own little bowl of soy sauce as if punishing it for the newfound news. Two months may as well have been tomorrow, because the expression on his face is nothing short of repulsed, like someone just dumped a bag of garbage on his lap and left him there to soak in scraps and juice. He feels like garbage suddenly, so perhaps that’s an apt comparison to make. Ugh.

Ugh, ugh, ugh.

“Whatever.” He throws out, tone vague and oddly normal despite the cocktail of emotions bubbling in his chest. _Whatever_ , I’ll run to the store later. _Whatever_ , I’ll tidy the living room. _Whatever_ , I’ll confront my brother over my abuse and shared parental abuse. By the time Miklan snaps out of it and pulls the fish from the sauce, it looks kind of sad, droopy, and vaguely like something Holst or Chris would make during one of their culinary escapades. He eats it anyway in a manner nothing short of beastly, either out of lack of caring or as an unspoken ‘yeah, I deserve that’. It makes his nose wrinkle.

Slouching in his seat slightly, he decides to make an amendment. Less loose, but no less informal. “Fuck. Fucking… fine. I’m tired of people getting on my ass about it. You aren’t the first, and I doubt you’ll be the last if I don’t do something.” More than that, he’s tired of feeling like this. Twenty years of quietly stewing in anger is exhausting and painful. If he’s going to end it, ending it with a friend is the most reassurance and support he can ask for. 

“Before this year is done.” 

For the first time in nine years, Miklan feels fear.

In that way that Miklan so does, he cusses. He cusses and he groans and grunts and grumbles, and every word ejected from his throat sounds pent-up, thrown straight from his belly, _angry_ … but Christophe knows a bit better. Christophe can tell when he’s spitting, making room for himself in the atmosphere so he can feel more himself in it. Christophe doesn’t nit-pick it. He lets Miklan gargle up profanities until he’s got a semblance of what his thoughts are looking like, and they’re shocking to him.

Just _how_ many people have been on his ass about this, only for him to cast them all out, not paying mind to a single word they’ve said? Perhaps, he _has_ paid mind. Perhaps, this happens to be his final straw.

Eye lids spreading, mouth falling ajar, Christophe just listens. A piece of scallop tempura droops from his chopsticks. It flops into the soy sauce and Christophe’s anything but attentive to a single thing but Mik. For the first time since this little outing started, he’s really examining his form, the shirt, the _nice cleavage_ , the way his eyebrows furrow, his nose crinkles, his body hunches and unbunches and the humanity of him.

Not that he wasn’t human before but, Christophe thinks he can see Miklan Anschutz Gautier, that kid he’s been so sweet on all these years, befuddled and addled but… trying. _Trying_. God, how many years has Christophe just wanted to try? In the pride that he feels, Christophe almost forgets his own mission. No, it can’t be this easy. Christophe’s gotta make sure.

“No…” Chris shakes his head, and he can feel eyes on him. “No… going back on this, Miklan.” Christophe’s eating slows to a crawl. He gulps, he swirls chopsticks around in the soy sauce saucer and wishes this were easy, wishes they were younger, wishes it were earlier—it really does just get harder every year. “Ashe will know, I lived. Ashe will know I lied for nine years. Ashe will know how I left our father to suffer in my stead and… he might reject me. He might just, do that.”

Flesh breaking crimson across his cheeks, Christophe rolls his eyes and they’re glassy and wet. “Might fuck around and break my heart like I broke his. But… I’m gonna.” Oh, no. He doesn’t mean to do it, but his voice breaks. God dammit, how embarrassing.

“So, don’t let me do this alone.”

He’s being looked at with such sincerity that it makes him squirm in his seat, wholly unused to being perceived in a manner other than mirth or thinly veiled disgust. Always an inconvenience, an embarrassment; never a _being_ with thoughts and feelings of his own. It makes the tips of his ears burn up, all the more when he realizes that at this point they’ve likely garnered the attention of the people sitting nearby. Goddess knows what people must think they’re doing, between throwing out vague dates and talk of heartbreak. _Please_ , he thinks, mouth twisting into something of a grimace. _Cut out the theatrics._

Miklan swallows his nerves and does his best to tune everyone else out. If he thinks about it for too long, he’s liable to start throwing food at someone or storming off to the bathroom in a flustered fit. He stares straight at Christophe, expression unwavering and sincere. He looks… determined. Quietly so, the way he was back in school when he still had the light and motivation inside of him to _try_ and succeed, even if it was all for naught. 

“I’m not gonna go back on it.” His chopsticks are put down, realizing that finishing his food right now would be disrespectful and impossible in equal measure. Both elbows come to rest on the table, hands clasped in front of him in a way eerily reminiscent of the Gautier’s youngest. “Trust me on that, yeah? You know I’m not the kind of guy to pull white lies out of my ass to appease people.” He finds himself leaning forward just so. He glances down, then back up again. “Sure. He might. Sylvain might also decide he wants nothing to do with me, and I wouldn’t blame the kid. If they do, we’ll just cross that bridge when we come to it.” 

“Part of a pact is sticking together, Chris. I’ll drag your lanky ass back up from ground zero if it comes to it. One way or another, you aren’t ending up alone again.”

Christophe wouldn’t say that he cries any more or less than the average person. It’s not really a _thing_ for him like it is for other people. Sometimes it just happens. There’s something about the way that his brain takes it, though, that has his body freaking the fuck out. They’re in public, and Christophe has never once cared about how he looks but, oh, he knows Miklan cares. After years spent by his side, he knows Miklan cares so much. This is rotted, this is gunk. This fucking _sucks_. What’s worse is that Miklan sounds begrudgingly obliged. It isn’t until Christophe’s grace and decency start to slip that Miklan appears to do something Christophe can remember from their childhood: he focuses, and he connects.

God—since Glenn, since his own fake death, since reuniting with Miklan on that fated day, Christophe’s seen such a vacancy in those muddy eyes, dark like cherry pits, like nothing gets through. Nothing comes in and nothing comes out. Christophe remembers being twelve at the back of detention with a smaller Miklan, an angrier one, a _meaner_ one, and as the other children flung insult after insult, he’d get that gem in his eyes. They’d whisper for hours, tuning out voices.

Maybe, he got so good at it from tuning out his own home. Christophe could only know the magic in a set of small hands, still larger than his own, calloused, bandaged not unlike his own are now, and the way he’d look at him, and the softness in his voice, like coping, like concentration.

Christophe, then, decides that he believes him, and he clears the tears from his face with a few wipes of his sleeves. More come down. His bottom lip snags, rips against his teeth. He covers his mouth. _Not in public, don’t do this. Quieter, quiet._ He can just reach out a hand, silently, smothering his face with the other hand. Christophe can reach his shitty, bony fingers out for his, something to let Miklan know… he’s so fucking thankful, dear god, he’s so blessed that someone knows he’s alive, that someone will pluck him from the dirt again, that someone will be there when nothing else can be and his mistakes have razed it all to the ground… fuck—to let him know that he won’t be alone again either. _Miklan, as long as we keep walking, you will never be alone again._

Oh, goddess. Now Christophe is crying, which he most definitely hadn’t intended to do, and Miklan actually looks acutely caught off guard by how deeply the words seem to have hit him. It really speaks magnitudes about just how low Chris had sunk, how lonely and _desperate_ he must have been for Miklan’s offer to have as big of an impact as it does. He can’t even begin to comprehend the sheer levels of loneliness and paranoia that Christophe must be dealing with day in and day out, but this feels like a window into a previously sealed room to which nobody held the key. _Why didn’t you speak to me sooner_ , is his first thought. _I’m so, so fucking sorry_ , is the second.

Christophe blindly reaches a hand out for Miklan’s and, despite having no worldly clue how to properly comfort someone (he is, after all, the last person anyone would come to with their woes) he takes it between both of his own and gives it a gentle squeeze, cautious of the wounds beneath the bandages and band-aids that litter freckled skin. Even though Christophe is the taller of the two, the more confident of the two, sat like this he feels so much smaller - so much more fragile, as though he might crack and crumble against too much pressure from Miklan’s own calloused palms.

“Hey, hey… Come on.” His tone isn’t a model example of kindness, per se, but it is _level_ , which is about as close as anyone’s got from him in a long while. Acts of love are best shown through actions for Mik, though even those are few and far between, his capability to perform them having rusted with neglect. “You’re alright.” Miklan rubs his hand. A lighthearted joke is offered, “If we keep it up, people are gonna start thinking I’ve been picking on you.”

Christophe’s hand flounders, tremblingly gropes about the table, searching in the dark until not one, but both of Miklan’s take his, and it feels like home when so many things do not anymore. There has not been a scent, a sound, a feeling, an aura that feels like that to him, anymore. He stays in motels and hotels, in clubs with backrooms reserved for dirty business. Christophe works here and there, never one place too long, never making lasting connections. All attempts at finding his roots buried in a new location are dashed until he’s left gripping the locket around his neck, wondering if it’s too late to come back.

Come back to Ashe’s cooking and quirky smile, funny attitude and bright gold soul.

But here, there’s something that feels like a house—just as warm, just as safe, just as familiar. Christophe’s home has a set of strong hands and a big _X_ on the front. They pull him into the light, and honest to god, even if this home has teeth, it’s done nothing but ever protect him with them.

Miklan’s a kinder creature, like this, he thinks, and that’s how he knows factually that there’s a brother that could use this. His heart pounds at him. Maybe Ashe needs this. Maybe not… but, it’s a promise now. It’s a pact now. Sniffling and clearing the snot and gloss from his face with the sleeve of his coat, Christophe actually laughs.

How dare those people try and rob Miklan of his gentleness. It feels like power over his parents, to see it curl out of him like a strange little critter taking its first steps out. Christophe squeezes his hands back— _adds_ his other one until they’re just kind of… holding hands across the table now. That’s kind of the straw that breaks the horses back and now Christophe feels embarrassed, snickering as he clenches Miklan’s rough palms.

“You do pick on me, but not right now.” Another few sniffs. And then, “you’re alright too.” Whatever that could mean.

Right. Whatever that could mean.

Miklan isn’t sure if he’s alright - frankly, he’s not sure he ever has been. But in the moment, he feels _some_ semblance of wellness, surrounded by warmth and familiarity and… a whole restaurant full of people, most of which are still glancing their way between murmurs. Caught up in the moment, he’d almost forgotten about that. Their embarrassment is most definitely shared between nerves, though perhaps for different reasons. 

“That could change.” But he’s joking. Christophe’s hands gets one final squeeze, thumbs caressing the skin between band-aid after band-aid. Then, he pulls away to scratch at his cheek in a manner that could almost be interpreted as bashful. “We should, uh…” His eyes scan the table. “Probably finish all of this. You’ve still got enough tempura to feed an army.” Saying that, he reaches over to steal a piece and bite into it. He’s still holding the tail when he speaks, gesturing. “Unless you want to call it quits and take it back,” he offers. If it were him, he’s not entirely sure he’d be content with remaining after bursting into tears, but that’s coming from someone so emotionally compromised he spends days internally cringing over any small slip in his thuggish persona. He’ll leave it to the other to call the shots on this one.

Christophe said it for hope, like speaking it into the universe. He will be, if he is not now. If things get worse, it is only because it is about to get better; this, Chris believes with all of his gullible heart in that. Everything sort of hurts, especially the parts of Christophe that he thought he’d burned off like his fingertips, cauterized so that they may no longer bleed. Turns out he’s not a stone.

“It could,” Christophe answers cryptically, relishing the final pinch of Miklan’s hands in his before he curls up back on his side of the table, his fists balling in his jacket pockets, digging at them anxiously.

Yeah, no, he’s starting to feel everyone’s eyes and he can only imagine how mortified Miklan feels. Christophe’s face is still flush, with drinks and with tears, eyes vaguely puffy, but he can still work a shitty grin up when he says, “wanna dine and dash?”

He lifts one piece of shrimp tempura to his lips, wiggling his eyebrows, envisioning shoving all the tempura in his jeans and hauling ass.

Okay, he isn’t _really_ serious but, Chris wants to see what he says.

Miklan is still in the process of picking up varying bits and pieces of food, chopsticks abandoned to the side of his plate out of a general laziness and lack of caring anymore. Christophe said he wanted Miklan to get his fat sausage fingers all over some spicy tuna roll and, by god, is he delivering. Better late than never. 

He licks a piece of rice from his thumb when the question is posed. He seems like he’s thinking about that, gaze momentarily cast upwards, and after a second of mental deliberation he smirks around the digit. “Depends on how fast you can run,” he says, eyes lidded and outright _bastardly_.

Oh, really. Really on god that wasn’t Christophe’s earnest idea. Some part of him had been convinced that Miklan didn’t have that kind of deviousness in him anymore. They were twenty-six and twenty-seven for fucks sake. By that age you’ve gotten those impulses out of you because you’ve either worked food service or you’ve been on the wrong side of the law enough times to know a decision like this might not be worth the split second or possibly fifteen minute laugh you’ll get out of it.

And here, Christophe had really thought he was the least mature out of their crew. Here we was having thoughts like this.

Of course… he was joking. He was kidding. There was _no_ way… god, but that smile Miklan’s got, boyishly evil just reminds Christophe of too many late night Denny’s runs, ordering a fucking Grand Slam only to eat half and hop it like a jackrabbit the fuck out of there.

Christophe’s face appears to flatten, his edges softening but his eyes growing eerily attentive. And—oh. He’s going for it. He snags up bits of tempura, what’s left of his nigiri, and just.. oh god. Christophe, it’s just _in your shirt_. He grips the hem with a bundled fist, making a bowl of his shirt and revealing his freckled, _way_ too scrawny tummy. His hip bones are practically sharp enough to cut the table in half.

And—fuck okay, he’s doing that thing he’s been good at since they were children: walking as if he’s doing nothing wrong. Miklan’s always been the type to constantly peer over his shoulder, always the one being blamed even for things he didn’t do. Christophe has this at least on him. He knows that if you walk confidently enough, people don’t think you’re doing anything wrong… well, nothing except for flashing your midriff to all the patrons of the sushi bar. That’s fine because he’s going… going.

_Out the door, please god Miklan run._

Whilst Miklan has undoubtedly improved in some regards, he remains a vague piece of shit at his core and it oozes out of him during moments like these just as it did in his early teens. Miklan knows in his mind that this is an absolutely godawful idea… but he just can’t stop himself. Story of his life, really. It’s chaos for the sake of chaos. Chaos just to _feel_ something. 

Even as far back as middle school he can remember pinching chocolates and snacks from stores on the way home, sprinting out the doors between snorts, giggles, and a gap riddled smile. It’s a wonder he never got caught. In hindsight, perhaps they felt sorry for him.

He’s casual when he starts to slip his coat back on despite the pounding in his chest, making a show of momentarily putting his wallet and keys onto the table as though getting ready to pay up (he isn’t) and call over the waiter (he won’t). What he’s actually doing is making room for food to be shoved into the pockets, which is exactly what he starts doing when the waiting staff aren’t fully paying attention. A roll here, some shrimp there - in it goes. _Gross_. He moves with an odd swiftness for someone usually so heavy handed, face blank and overall air perfectly casual despite the fact he’s shoving sushi into his coat like a man who doesn’t know when his next meal will be.

And then he’s walking behind the other in no time at all, slowly at first, almost as if he’s someone innocuously hunting down somewhere to ask for the bill. Normal, right? Some restaurants bring the bill to you; others, you approach a counter. He’s just lost. Confused. Duh. His hand is at the small of Christophe’s exposed back, fingertips lightly brushing the skin, urging him forward without words. From across the room, a waiter clocks him; he smiles nods in a false _Oh, there you are, I was looking for you_. The waiter gestures - _I’ll be with you in a second_.

Except he won’t be, because Miklan’s darts out of the door, gone like the wind, boots pounding against the pavement as he heads towards the car. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Of course, if Miklan tried to explain it to Christophe, he’d understand perfectly fine. _God, just… gotta steal from this sushi place to feel something again_. Trust me, he gets it. Christophe can only really cling to the teenager he’s always been in lieu of actually growing up into something that anyone can be proud of. Can’t really call him the black sheep of the family when he’s assumed to be six feet in the ground, or blown to bloody smithereens.

Needless to say, this was something he and Miklan were too skilled at. It’d just been some years, and despite of how Christophe’s body moves invisibly as all hell (his clothes all muted and dimmed down colors, meant for slipping into the back of dark spaces; his body language casual, purposeful, uninspiring), he’s still got… his fucking food tucked into his shirt. Normally no one can notice the manner in which his pants tend to sag. The biggest crime being committed are those banana boxers that poke the fuck out of his shredded jeans.

Imagine being caught and the cooks saying, _yes, twas that man in the banana boxers_. Time to rip those off the moment he gets to the car.

Spooked a tad by the hand at his back, though not enough to show it, Christophe increases his pace, marching, marching, _marching_ , until Miklan and him break off into a sprint.

Wordlessly, frantically, it’s _assumed_ that Miklan unlocks the door as they sprint because otherwise they’re going to be stood there tossing fish all over the parking lot while the cooks line up a laser sight on their fucking foreheads. Christophe leaps into the passenger’s seat, panting, laughing without sound, hardly breathing with his legs splayed all over the dashboard— _shoving_ tempura into his face. It’s fun, it’s teenage, it’s 2009 again.

“Gogogogogogogogo,” he hurries, flapping his wrist at Miklan.

In the chaos, a raw piece of shrimp flops into the floor of the passenger side seat. Chris feels around for it. Five second rule. Tosses it back. _Augh…_

He’s fumbling with his keys, his seat belt, and in a matter of seconds the engine springs to life and they’re speeding out of the parking lot, bumping the curb just so and knocking over a trashcan all the while. He can see the junk sprawled across tarmac in the rear view mirror - It’s fine. You know? It’s fine. _Mood_ , as the kids these days say. There’s no sign of the waiting staff, perhaps too stunned or simply too slow, but he’s not about to complain either way. He elects to take the longer route home to lower the chances of being followed. The back roads, away from cameras and prying eyes.

They did it. Holy fuck. _Holy fuck_.

Between the exhilarated flush on his face and the way he jiggles his knee as an outlet for excess energy, Miklan looks practically electric, the most lively he’s been all evening (and even long before). For awhile the only noise in the car is the sound of their heavy breathing and the hum of the engine. 

Of course, that all changes when he finds himself sparing a glance at Christophe once they reach a straight road, safe for him to risk a momentary distraction. Chris looks like an absolute mess, shoveling food into his face, clothes rumpled and underwear hanging out, simultaneously too young and too old for twenty fucking six - god, is it hilarious. For the first time in what feels like decades, Miklan starts _spluttering_. His laughter is hysterical, raucous, and he’s slapping the steering wheel because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself in the moment. It’s like he’s seventeen again, clowning around with Chris and Holst in the Garreg Mach courtyard and howling on the grass when something inevitably goes wrong. 

It’s refreshing, it’s rejuvenating, though he doesn’t realize it yet.

There’s something enrapturing about this moment, seeing a guy that was so scarred by a rogue car accident that he quite literally has the scar to tell of it and lost the love of his life… just go fucking ape around the corner of the road and knock the curb hard enough to jostle Chris out of his seat. Right. A seatbelt might help. Don’t want to actually set the guy’s paranoias off.

Sushi is fucking all over him and Christophe is yanking on the seat belt until it clicks and then he shoves it over his shoulder, leaving the bit around the waist as he picks at some seaweed-wrapped rice. His eyes pan and zoom to the side mirror, the rear view mirror, and then he’s shoving his head out the window to glance behind with absolutely nothing to gawk at. There’s nobody there and Miklan is speeding down the street like it’s 2009 and they’re young and dumb and no one is dead for it.

It’s poignant and Christophe has more than the mind to not comment on these things. He just breathes with something of an astonished smile, eyes blown wide, until Miklan glances over at him and then he starts to make that face—oh, _you know the one_ , the one where he’s trying so hard not to laugh that his eyes get wider and his face gets redder and he’s biting his lips so hard and shivering that he might just explode.

He does, of course, when Miklan gets to howling and Christophe is covering his mouth, kicking his legs as he so does when he loses his fucking mind, losing it too fucking hard to actually make any noise. Christophe wheezes, flailing his wrists and gesturing like he’s trying so goddamn hard to say _something_. His bony arm slaps spastically against the door and the window like a fish on land.

“ _MIK—_ “ He can’t even breathe. You might think he was crying for help by the way that hardly any laughter has actually been audible. When his body lets him actually breathe, his stomach quaking with the stress of his diaphragm, he gulps in a lungful and then shrieks.

“ _My fucking face hurts,_ “ he just kind of whines deliriously, trying to hold his sushi in his shirt.

Really, this is Miklan’s fault. He wouldn’t have laughed even half as hard if Miklan hadn’t started it.


	3. Tempest Open UP YOUR EYES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain is a professional jockey who cheated on his boyfriend of a few months. The whole world finds out when his now ex boyfriend shows up to one of his races and publicly confronts him over it. Media outlets won't let it go: he's gay _and_ a cheater. Christophe and Miklan talk about it and other stuff.

  
@ Miklan  
  


christopholes  
ran out of cereal  
  


* * *

Miklan  
For fucks sake. Stop sending me pictures of what you eat  
How are your guts not rotten  


* * *

christopholes  
i have a passion for cooking what can i say  


* * *

Miklan  
I wish you didnt  


* * *

christopholes  
figuring out new recipes and spices and combinations is the whole point of⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chefery  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Uh-huh?  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
anyways this doesnt taste half bad  
gotta eat it fast  
gets too soggy way too quick  


* * *

Miklan  
Ugh  
Just buy some cereal, Chris. Cornflakes. Lucky Charms. Anything. Please  


* * *

christopholes  
already made my last grocery run of the month  
hey no segway whatsoever but since youre not keen on hearing about my food choices  
your brother made the news  


* * *

Miklan  
... Yeah. I saw already. I dont know what the moron is playing at, but its headlining everywhere  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont think hes using his brain  
you two have that in common  


* * *

Miklan  
Ha ha. Hilarious  


* * *

christopholes  
this is probably the weirdest way to find out that your brother is gay  


* * *

Miklan  
Sure. It would be, if I didnt already know  


* * *

christopholes  
oh yeah duh  
you grew up with the little guy you probably knew for ages  


* * *

Miklan  
I guess I always wondered. Wasnt really my place to decide that for him, though. But thats not it  
He told me himself. We spoke, uh... awhile back  


* * *

christopholes  
whoa  
you didnt tell me that when we went to lunch  


* * *

Miklan  
I didnt think itd count for anything  
Hes always the one to message first  
Not exactly me reaching out, is it?  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀  
Mik.  


* * *

Miklan  
... What?  
Dont do that.  


* * *

christopholes  
  
so you mean to tell me  
hold on im in a bath right now and i keep almost dropping my fucking pfone  


* * *

Miklan  
For fucks sake  


* * *

christopholes  
ok  
so i dont remember everything we said bc it was like a lifetime original movie in there  
and i really drank my weight in lager but  
you made it sound like u guys never speak  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont remember implying that  
You mentioned something about reconnecting. Apologizing.  
Just because we speak doesnt mean things are better  
Its the same shitshow it always has been  


* * *

christopholes  
no i remember you saying that like  
me and ashe actually like each other whereas you guys dont  
i dont think that would be the case if he felt okay to tell you that  


* * *

**Miklan leaves him on read for a bit. Smooth.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Look, I dont know what youre envisioning  
But it wasn't some damn heartwarming moment between the two of us  
Probably the exact fucking opposite  


* * *

christopholes  
youre like  
purposely putting blinders on i hope you know that what im envisioning  
is a horse that refuses to let someone else take the blinders off theyre like  
nah man i got it and they keep running into shit  
have you been drinking by any chance  


* * *

Miklan  
The fuck? No  


* * *

christopholes  
oh so like yr being stupid just on accident  


* * *

Miklan  
Chris you of all people have no right to talk to me about being fucking stupid  
Look, Im not _blind_. I just - he wanted to tell me that  
Not have a leisurely conversation afterwards. Thats not how shit works  
We barely spoke for ten minutes and wed already pissed eachother off  


* * *

christopholes  
yikes  
mikitty got his claws out real fast at that  
ill stop beating around the bush because i like you  
why would he message you about that  


* * *

Miklan  
Its not exactly like he can go to our parents without getting dropped on his ass like a hot coal  
Which is probably going to fucking happen anyway, because the media cant keep its nose out of shit  
I dont know why he came to me, okay?  
I dont fucking know  
To gloat, maybe. Clear an obstacle. If he can tell my ass, he can tell anyone  


* * *

christopholes  
  
you actually dont know?  
i thought you were being hardheaded but ok  
mik... youre not around. he has no need to tell you. if like  
if ashe had a secret and he didnt tell me, id be fine with that. people dont tell each other everything  
not even siblings. but if he did tell me some secret about him if well  
things were different id think that uhhhh⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀id be honored to be trusted? with that?  
you dont even speak and he came to you with that  
i didnt want to assume but you said it yourself, you never message him? is that right man?  
i literally know you know what the answer here is  


* * *

Miklan  
...  
No. I dont  
Message him first, I mean. Fuck. Im not trying to be hardheaded. I swear  
I just dont get it  
You said it yourself. Hes got no reason to tell me. No obligation to. And he does, because... what, he cares?  
But _why_  
Ive been nothing but shitty to him  


* * *

christopholes  
"he cares?"  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Im legitimately five seconds away from turning you into compost in my new world  
Just fucking help me out here, alright? Im not used to crap like this  
Fuck knows nobody else gives a rats ass about whats going on with me  


* * *

christopholes  
not used to it  
i love you to pieces miklan but growing up with the two of you i never saw the kid speak a nasty word to you  
im not saying youre a bad guy and you know that  
im saying maybe  
i dont think he hates you  
if he wanted nothing to do with you why would he bother?  
i would take no connections no contact at all to be... careless.  
i have to face ashe and explain away 9 years of _careless_.  
sylvains reached out more to a brother that wants nothing to do with him evidently than i have to a brother  
who probably⠀⠀loved me a lot  
i Know you can do mathematics, mik, ive seen you do it  


* * *

Miklan  
Chris, you dont _get_ it. The kid has every right to hate me and I dont understand why he doesnt.  
Thats what Im trying to say to you.  
I spent years upon years ragging on him and making his life a living nightmare, and he trusts me with one  
of the biggest and most dangerous secrets in a family like ours  
He couldve told his friends. He couldve spoken to any of the people that hes been seeing. But he came to  
me  
And I dont know how to deal with that. I mean, shit, I couldnt even congratulate him properly  
I needed support when I was young. I _know_ how that crap feels. But I could barely offer him anything  
meaningful  
Every chance I get to do right, I cant get over myself for long enough. He deserves better than that  
Im not trying to make this about me, or anything. I know I fucked up back then big time. I was a rotten kid,  
and you can say it. I just cant wrap my head around why he wouldnt distance himself from me like everyone  
else  


* * *

christopholes  
hey mik  
kids are mean to each other, mean to their siblings, it doesnt mean that you were rotten. i think... maybe  
you just  


* * *

**Oh, fuck Christophe is actually running his hands through his hair because maybe he's letting**  
**feelings overshadow his objective reasoning again, we love when that happens. He goes quiet for a**  
**bit, trying to think.**  


* * *

you said it yourself, you got no support  
dont you think he knows that?  
ill be honest i dont know why he likes you. i cant lie. i mean... you know _i_ like you and im your friend,  
im here for as long as you'll put up with my nauseating bs but like  
i cant explain why he likes you still  
but he does  
isnt that enough?  
cant you ask?  


* * *

Miklan  
You dont think thatd be weird at all?  
And kind of jarring for him?  
'Hey Sylv, do you like me? Also, sorry for ruining your early childhood because I took my frustration out on  
you'?  


* * *

christopholes  
maybe if you did it like that ya  
fuck man i dont know how to do this either im. sat here with ashe's address and number and its the same  
damn one. the same address. hes just... i had all this time. and i still havent cultivated what to say. what  
to do  
im just as in the dark im tryin my best here  
i  
⠀⠀⠀mik do you really not get it. the.  
does being loved really confuse you ?  


* * *

Miklan  
Were both in similar shitty boats and weve got just under two months to come up with something before we  
start sinking like a couple of stranded idiots  
I just...  


* * *

**A long pause. The typing bubble comes and goes for a bit.**  


* * *

Dont ask me that. You know the answer  
The only person who ever fully, vocally loved me is in a grave Im not even allowed to visit  
Im not the kind of guy thats loved. And I deserve that  
But Id be lying if I said it didnt make things difficult  


* * *

christopholes  
i mean  


* * *

**Fuck a duck running sideways does Christophe type some dumb shit he deletes, he's practically**  
**banging his throwaway phone against his table.**  


* * *

you know holst and i love you, i know its not the same, but we've always been here  
and⠀⠀⠀⠀maybe its weird of sylvain to still want to talk to you, to reach out for whatever reason, but. i  
can't tell you why. im not him.  
you know whats going to happen to him  


* * *

**More typing shit he can't send fuck fuck fuck be normal. Chris shovels soggy milklogged**  
**cheezits into his mouth. oiuggghjhdyhd bbad.**  


* * *

does love need a reason? dont even answer it just consider it. and sleep on it maybe. youre bright.  


* * *

Miklan  
I  
Uh... Yeah. Sure, whatever  
Theres a lot of stuff I need to sit on. Better late than never, I guess. Thanks for - this. Whatever 'this' is  
I rag on you guys whenever I get the chance, but I appreciate you both. Youve always kind of been  
there. And Im not about to get sappy or anything, so just take that and pretend I said something  
really long winded and eloquent  


* * *

christopholes  
always been such a wordsmith  
i have to bake my toes so take care ok? ill make you some dinner some time this week or the next  
l8r  
  


* * *

Miklan  
You⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀really dont have to do that. Its fine  
Night. Take it easy  


* * *


	4. did you do that to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain is transgender. His family is very concerned with their image—mother is a politician, father is the CEO of Gautier Cheese. Yes, a cheese factory. Miklan was disowned from the family in December 2010 when he got into the car accident that gave him the scar on his face, the very same that killed Glenn Fraldarius, his boyfriend at the time. Miklan was not disowned for being gay in and of itself, but for letting it _show_.
> 
> So too, is Sylvain not disowned for being transgender or for being gay, but for letting other people know about it and bringing shame to his parent's public image.
> 
> Miklan apologies for his abuse and Sylvain has a melt down.

  
@ Sylvain  
  


Miklan  
Getting pretty tired of seeing your mug all over the news  
Its been, what? A couple days? Youd think theyd find something better to report  


* * *

**what the fuck⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀what the fuck. sylvain just stares at his phone like wow i fucked up so**  
**bad HE'S messaging me. he marches around his kitchen for a bit, typing up things and then realizes**  
**he doesn't know what to say wow. he feels sick. tho that last sentence almost sounds sympathetic.**  
**almost. so he decides to just say...**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
i always did have a face born for television.  


* * *

Miklan  
And a talent for acting to boot  
Always did run in the family, though. Wouldnt be us if we werent being slandered somewhere  


* * *

Sylvain !  
acting?  
like yeah im a good actor but whered that come from  


* * *

Miklan  
Just an observation. You look way too smug in half of these pictures for someone who just got caught  
cheating and was outed to most of the continent  


* * *

Sylvain !  
oh haha well  
gotta let all the single men out there know just what kind of time they could be having  
like _man_ hes a cheater and a liar but those teeth tho  
chip skylark shiny and prettier than a backstreet boy  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah, great  
Maybe if you frosted your tips like the backstreet boys people would stop taking so many photographs  
Cant get much worse than the early 2000s and infidelity  


* * *

Sylvain !  
ill start wearing that super shiny chrome shit everyone was wearing in the early 2000s  
flared low rise jeans  
sing genie in a bottle to all the men who wanna fuck  


* * *

Miklan  
Not Cascada? Shaggy?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
sure  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh-huh  
Not to wildly derail from my own genius ice breaker or anything  
And I gotta say that you kind of dug your own grave here, but I wanted to...  


* * *

**The typing bubble comes and goes for a long time. Miklan is standing on his balcony with a**  
**cigarette between his fingers, trying to figure out what the Fuck he wants to say here without**  
**sounding grating or disingenuous.**  


* * *

I just - Uh  
Mom and dad havent given you any trouble yet, have they?  
About all of this  
Because theyre fucking stupid, but I know they can read  


* * *

Sylvain !  
not yet at least  
they wanted me to visit  
you know how hoity toity they are  
cant just say shit over the phone  
bet theyre gonna congratulate me on coming in 1st   


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck. Of course they want you to visit  
Dont tell me youre actually going to go  
You know full well they arent gonna break out the champagne  


* * *

Sylvain !  
hey you dont know that!  
you know as well as i do our folks love me  
and stress drink  
and need something to throw at me  


* * *

Miklan  
Our folks love whatever makes them look _good_  
You arent exactly their bullshit definition of a saint right now  


* * *

Sylvain !  
shrugs  
you took your lashings  
now its time for mine  


* * *

Miklan  
Shithead. Dont shrug at me through text  
Just because they did that to me doesnt mean it has to happen to you  
And I know thats fucking hypocritical coming from me  
But they shouldnt be able to do that. You fucked up. Doesnt mean it warrants their damn bigotry  


* * *

**sylvain is just kind of staring at his phone while in his car and he doesnt know how to respond.**  
**supposes he should go inside and get the bad conversation over with. sighs at his phone.**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
ok  


* * *

Miklan  
Fucking Christ  
Ok? Really?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
what do you want me to say miklan  
if i know how you expect me to respond i can give you what you want better  


* * *

Miklan  
I want you to use your damn brain for once  
Cuz I know its in there  
And think about what youre doing. If youre gonna ignore me and visit anyway, dont let them trample all  
over you  


* * *

Sylvain !  
i said say. what do you want me to say. fuck knows i dont follow instructions but if i know what you like  
to hear i can get it over with  
i like your advice though  


* * *

**Miklan's on his second cigarette. It's cold out, but he's unfazed. Having a conversation when**  
**neither of you are willing to be up front... wack.**  


* * *

Miklan  
How the fuck should I know? I dont want you to say whatever just to get me off your ass  
Im talking to you, not trying to get a satisfactory answer and a pat on the back  


* * *

**Sylvain's gripping the bridge of his nose, wondering what the fuck he wants and when he's**  
**gonna get to the mean and nasty bitching part of every conversation they have. would smoke**  
**too if he had one.**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
well  
i planned some time ago, or well  
i didnt really plan it so much as i talked about it and thought it was a nifty idea, but⠀⠀i dont want them  
in my life anyways  
so  
whatever youre trying to tell me, its fine  
im not going in there to do anything except tell them i dont want them  


* * *

**Sylvain types up some more shit and then deletes it god fuc k hes anxious goddamn.**  


* * *

Miklan  
God. You make it sound so simple  
Look, Im glad for you. I told you before to get the hell away from them, so kudos, or whatever. Better  
late than never  
But you know what theyre like. I know what theyre like  
You dont think theyre gonna flip out over it?  
_Thats_ what Im trying to tell you  


* * *

**There is a sizable gap in time here where Sylvain has left Miklan on read, where Sylvain is**  
**talking to his family. And then...**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
uh  


* * *

Miklan  
???????????  
What?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
they didnt yell at me  


* * *

Miklan  
... Yeah?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
they're bad people, mik  


* * *

Miklan  
Theyre damn rotten, Sylv. I know  
Did they do something? You alright over there?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
you dont want to know ha  
its alright  


* * *

Miklan  
If I didnt wanna know I wouldnt be asking  
Trust me  


* * *

Sylvain !  
i love you mik but you dont  


* * *

Miklan  
Ugh  


* * *

**Sylvain sends a photo, it's of the enormous backyard of the Gautier estate. Some horses are**  
**grazing. None of them that belong to them since Sylvain takes care of his and Miklan's old one**  
**but... there's a barn in the distance.**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
id set the barn on fire on my way out but i care about the horses  


* * *

Miklan  
Arsons a new one for you  
I⠀⠀almost forgot about all of that. Guess it makes sense that they still have them. Horses are a rich  
people milestone, or whatever  
Almost looks peaceful  


* * *

Sylvain !  
wish it was  
im never speaking to them again  
how much should i steal  
sell off some pearl necklaces?  
would smash open their windows with rocks but those are easily replaceable and the cops would get  
here before i get much done  
should be like that one john mulaney bit and fuck up the things that cant be replaced  


* * *

Miklan  
Might as well  
Knock some shit off the mantelpiece  
Take the tv remote so they cant switch channels. Scribble on photos. Frighten em a bit  
Theyre damn well lucky Im not there because Id send them flying  


* * *

Sylvain !  
finally get your revenge on them all? choke them out? put them out of their misery you said?  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck no. Big difference between bopping dad on the nose and putting him six feet under. Like Id go to  
prison for that fucking dickhead  
Ive told you that before  


* * *

Sylvain !  
cant even indulge me in a joke about it  


* * *

Miklan  
Fine, whatever. Theyre damn well lucky Im not there because Id send them flying*  
*Straight into the lawnmower  


* * *

Sylvain !  
...  


* * *

Miklan  
...  
  


* * *

Sylvain !  
i havent felt like this before mik im angry  
i dont know, fucking, tell me all of those horrible things you used to say even if you dont mean them,  
tell me how you want to take a bat to the mailbox, key the volkswagon, burn the house down with me  
in it  


* * *

Miklan  
Im not - for fucks sake, Sylvain. Im not gonna do that.  
Youre allowed to be pissed. Youre allowed to be confused, or whatever else is there. Theyre our parents  
even if theyve damn well never acted like it  


* * *

Sylvain !  
you dont get it you dont get it this wasnt supposed to go this way, they were SUPPOSED to scream at  
me  
not fucking talk to me like a mental health patient, not patronize me  
not look at me like im confused, i'm not confused.  
not look at you like somehow you did this. because of fucking course whats one more thing for you to  
fucking do  
you dont fucking get it  
i can never win now  
i can never be fucking even  


* * *

Miklan  
What the fuck are you talking about? Even with who?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
fuck sake you mik  


* * *

Miklan  
...  
Fuck. Idiot, I dont _want_ you to be even with me. I dont get why you want to be even with me,  
either. You wanna be cut off from everyone you knew? Unemployed? Living in a shitty ass car because  
thats the best you can get? Everyones scapegoat, because if something goes wrong, its _gotta_ be you?  
The way they treat you is fucked up enough already. Its not a damn competition  
Despite how I acted when I was trapped under their fucking roof, I dont want you to suffer any more  
than you have to  


* * *

Sylvain !  
fuck you mik. i dont know why i wanted this. i dont know why i thought that maybe if they broke me in  
half the way they did you that maybe you'd idk feel something other than disgust for me. i used to pray  
we'd have a third, another brother so i could be hurt like you. so you wouldnt have to be alone in this.  
so i could feel my own natural human empathy without it being abhorrent to you. so i wouldnt be caught  
between this stupid fucking feeling, taking love from people i dont want it from because my other option  
wants to throw me in a fucking ditch. maybe you wouldnt think id fucking took something from you. i  
dont know. maybe somethings wrong in my head to make me want something like that. maybe im the  
fuckup and youre not.  
they fucking made you hate me. and they cant even bother to fuck me up bad enough that you feel like  
you can like me again.  
whatever  


* * *

**Sylvain has parked the car at this point because he can't drive any further, sat in a parking lot**  
**of... some place, he wasn't paying attention. He's sobbing and snotting everywhere.**  


* * *

dont say anything i dont care  


* * *

Miklan  
Youre about to get real mad at me because Im gonna say something, and Im gonna say a lot. I should have  
done this ages ago but couldnt for a whole plethora of reasons that mostly boils down to me being a  
fucking pussy. 9 years to do this and 9 years that I didnt do jack shit but nows as good of a time as any  


* * *

**The typing bubble appears for a long time. Miklan's sitting on the floor of the balcony, now,**  
**cigarettes discarded aside.**  


* * *

Look, Sylvain.. The way I treated you when we were kids was fucked up. Rotten. Im not gonna make  
excuses for it. For years I punished you for something that you had no damn control over, and it wasnt  
until I was out of that shithole that I could put things into perspective properly. I hate that it took that  
long for me to get my ass in gear, and I hate that it put into your head somewhere along the way that  
things would be _better_ if they couldve just treated you as poorly. Its not true. I know you know  
that. We wouldve both ended up even more screwed and spiteful than already and God knows you were  
the only thing in that house that managed to bring even a damn shred of happiness into it some days.  
You fuck up, but youre not _a_ fuck up  
I dont hate you. I hated what they did to me. To you. To _us_  
I cant even begin to apologize for what the hell I did to you then. Theres too much. It bothers you even  
now, I know it does. But I meant what I said about not wanting you to get hurt anymore  


* * *

**Sylvain can barely see his phone. He leaves the message on read for just long enough for him to**  
**scream-cry into his knees before replying.**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
it would have been better. it wouldn't have been as lonely.  
i cant love a pair of parents that would treat you that way. and you couldn't love me.  
you're right in your feelings. i didn't help you, even once. i didn't know how.  
im sorry  


* * *

Miklan  
Stop. Stop the line of thought, and stop apologizing to me  
I wasnt in the right. I was hurting, but that gave me no right to hurt you, to abuse you. You were  
younger than me. What the hell were you supposed to do? You werent supposed to have worries or  
responsibilities like that as a kid, and you sure as hell werent supposed to have a family that made  
every day of your life difficult  
I did love you. Do, even. But I fucked up. And thats not on you  
It never was, and it never will be  


* * *

Sylvain !  
miklan we dont have to do this  
its our parents fault  
dont  
dont say that dont say any of that what am i supposed to do with that now  
its fine its fine  


* * *

Miklan  
We do have to do this. I _want_ to  
Its my fault just as much as it is theirs  
Its not fucking fine. You dont have to pretend that it is  


* * *

Sylvain !  
so what do i do now? i hate you too? i cant do that i dont know how oh my god  
i think im having a panic attack? Miklan i feel like im having a panic attack. what the fuck am i supposed  
to do, all i ever dreamt of was hearing any order of these words come out of you and i dont know what  
to do  
this isnt fair  
im tired of being angry and im tired of hurting  
i dont know how you do it  
what do you want me to do  


* * *

Miklan  
Breathe, first of all. Please  
Im not gonna answer that. What you do from here on out is up to you. Youre free from them, and youre  
free from me, if thats what you want. If not, you know Im gonna do my damn best to do right by you. Im  
tired of being angry and hurting  
Twenty odd years of pure fucking hate just eats at you. I dont want it anymore  
For either of us  


* * *

**Ok, yeah, Sylvain has a panic attack because hurray for acknowledging trauma. He's chillingly**  
**quiet for a long time until he says...**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
is this why im like this  
i cant make myself happy. i cant . do things right i sabotage myself constantly its like i try to ruin my  
own life like i dont think i deserve anything less  
is that you mik  
did you do that to me  


* * *

**Miklan's quiet for awhile, too. He's biting on the nail of his thumb. Did he do that? Did he? He**  
**did, he absolutely did. God. Fuck.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Im sorry  
Its moot. But Im sorry  


* * *

Sylvain !  
ah  
...  
i dont want you out of my life. call me too forgiving.  
who would i be if i turned you away when i finally got a message  
just  


* * *

**Sylvain is sick and cried out and doesn't know where to go from here. He just stares at his**  
**phone weirdly, kinda lost.**  


* * *

why doesnt this magically fix everything like its supposed to  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont know  
Things are never that easy  


* * *

**Miklan is also tired, both in himself and on Sylvain's behalf. If he cried at any point, he hasn't**  
**bothered wiping at his face.**  


* * *

But I wish they were. Youve gotta stop shitting on your own happiness every time it comes about, Sylv.  
Im telling you now that you do deserve more  


* * *

Sylvain !  
what made you do this  
did i really just... manage to goof up enough for you to think it was finally worth telling me that?  
if so i shouldve ruined my life earlier  


* * *

Miklan  
Hilarious  
No, it wasnt... you werent the reason. I mean, I was getting pretty damn tired of seeing you every  
time I opened my phone or put on the news, but  
I dont know. Ive been doing a lot of thinking lately  


* * *

Sylvain !  
and here i thought the reason youd tell me that youre sorry for... "abusing" me would be idk, me. but  
its whatever  
i think im done having a crisis outside of this tim hortons and im going to stop being weird  


* * *

Miklan  
Okay. If you, uh  
I hope you...  
...  
If you need anything, you know where Im at  


* * *

Sylvain !  
i need some time to think about things so, for the first time ever that im saying this  
dont message me. ill come and talk to you soon  
but  
thank you  
i dont have the energy to say something funny, pretend to not be an emotional wreck, not even to  
spare you the awkwardness  


* * *

**He types some weird shit and he told himself to not be weird so he just keeps deleting it and settles**  
**on...**  


* * *

fuck you for taking this long to be nice to me literally ever but thank you, for making me feel like a  
person, like im not so crazy again.  
thats all   


* * *

Miklan  
Do what youve gotta  
Look after yourself, Sylv   


* * *


	5. On My way..... To NAIL A COOKIE TO THE TABLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe was declared dead in November 2010. Having fallen in with a radical revolutionary group that started with simple protests, fundraising and petition signing, when the group became obsessed with causing senseless violence and property damage for attention, provoking the police and causing harm to others, he should've left their ranks.
> 
> The news reported that every member of the Red Liberation had been gunned down. The news reported a lot of incorrect and false statements. It was a mass suicide, for one (something that was hidden for the morale and safety of the public.) For two, Christophe Gaspard never died. For nine years, Ashe has thought that he has.
> 
> Christophe and Miklan talk about reaching out to their brothers.

  
@ christophe  
  


Miklan  
Saw this at the bar. Thought of your stupid ass  
  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
If you make me look at that again Ill nail your dick to the table  


* * *

christopholes  
promise?  


* * *

Miklan  
For fucks sake  
The C in CBT stands for Christophe  


* * *

christopholes  
christophe behavioral therapy  


* * *

Miklan  
You need behavioral therapy  
Unlearn how to cook  


* * *

christopholes  
wait til you see what im making for dinner  


* * *

Miklan  
NO  


* * *

christopholes  
shaking with anticipation?  


* * *

Miklan  
Shaking my head, more like. What the hell are you making?  


* * *

christopholes  
baghetti  


* * *

Miklan  
What  
Spaghetti? Thats surprisingly tame  


* * *

christopholes  
banaghetto  
bana  
gghetti  


* * *

Miklan  
Nevermind  


* * *

christopholes  
baba  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Wghat the fuck?⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Shut the hell up  
Ive gotta get outta here  
Everything you make feels like an affront to God  
And Im not even religious  


* * *

christopholes  
its got a good texture  


* * *

Miklan  
Are you 2  
Or 90  
Its the kind of textures you mix when you have no teeth  


* * *

christopholes  
nah the spaghettis hard  


* * *

Miklan  
Its what  


* * *

christopholes  
its hard  


* * *

Miklan  
One more time  


* * *

christopholes  
my spaghettis hard  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
its cronchy but still warm  
contrasts with the mush from the banana  


* * *

Miklan  
Stop talking  
Stop. Enough  
I dont even wanna know  


* * *

christopholes  
awww  
you wanna come cook for me?  


* * *

Miklan  
Do you even have anything to cook _with_ in your room?  


* * *

christopholes  
what do you think im cooking with  


* * *

Miklan  
No inhibitions  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Nice save  
  


* * *

christopholes  
ok me  
i might scrap this and get take out  


* * *

Miklan  
You better. Your guts are gonna thank you  


* * *

christopholes  
you know how when you burn something or cook it too long it gets bricky or hard  
i wanted crispy noodles  
instead the spaghetti is just  
undercooked and sucks  
i cant⠀⠀⠀⠀really enjoy this  
i should've burnt the pasta  


* * *

Miklan  
Dipshit. Theres a difference between al dente and al dents your damn teeth  
Next time you come to mine Im showing you how to do it properly and you better pay attention  


* * *

christopholes  
fjrri3i8#*%884828:?;_θ`Гμ]μ8¿8¬[°ฯ°·  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
sorry you were so funny  
that was a good joke  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh. Fuck  
Yeah Im hilarious  


* * *

christopholes  
you are  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
haw  
so i have to ask  
what motherfucker brought a cookie, 2 screws, and a screwdriver to your bar  


* * *

Miklan  
Hell if I know  
Someone with too much time on their hands  
Its not the weirdest thing Ive found in here  


* * *

christopholes  
what⠀⠀is the weirdest thing  


* * *

Miklan  
  
  


* * *

christopholes  
?  
cough it up mikelback  


* * *

Miklan  
Mikelback⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fuck  
Look, its a club. I find all kinds of weird shit, because drunk people are weird as shit  
Id take a cookie on the table over underwear or, fucking, bodily fluid  
'Mik, what kind!' Yeah  


* * *

christopholes  
oh i left that  


* * *

Miklan  
Im gonna get your ass  


* * *

christopholes  
promise?  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah.  


* * *

christopholes  
thanks i needed that  


* * *

Miklan  
Any time  


* * *

christopholes  
every time i try to talk to a single gay kid more than 2 years younger than me i feel like this  
  


* * *

Miklan  
CCan you shut up  
I dont know what gay kids are up to these days and Im too afraid to ask  
Uh oh sisters or whatever  


* * *

christopholes  
every time i have a hook up and he starts talking like this i feel so old  
im only twenty six mik i swear to god  
man i dont wanna be thirty  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Youve still got four years  


* * *

christopholes  
id rather be closer to the grave than thirty  


* * *

Miklan  
Ill drink to that  
In theory, anyway. You cant die yet. We made a deal  


* * *

christopholes  
well yknow  
if i just _happen_ to kick it before then  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  
If you die Ill fucking kill you  
Ive already filled my end of the deal  


* * *

christopholes  
what  


* * *

Miklan  
I spoke to Sylvain yesterday  


* * *

christopholes  
you didnt  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck off. I did  


* * *

christopholes  
what  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont even know. It happened  
Saw some bullshit news article about him again and felt the need to say something  


* * *

christopholes  
oh so my words actually got through to you  


* * *

Miklan  
I mean, yeah. I guess  


* * *

christopholes  
so one time for me whos the man  


* * *

Miklan  
  
You are  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
who wears the dick around here  


* * *

Miklan  
I fucking do. You get your dick rights when were both level  


* * *

christopholes  
what the hells that supposed to mean  


* * *

Miklan  
You still need to talk to Ashe, remember?  


* * *

christopholes  
i do?  


* * *

Miklan  
Dont be a dick. Yeah, you do  


* * *

christopholes  
do what  


* * *

Miklan  
Chris I swear to fuck I am going to throw you like a javelin  
555-123-4567  
You dont have to do it right now. But you made a damn show of not wanting me to flake out on you, so dont do the same to me  


* * *

christopholes  
im just giving you shit  
this is the second time ive received ashe's number but i dont know if doing this over phone is what i should  
do  
i have sort of the benefit in a text message that he won't know who i am and i can say a few things without...  
him immediately blocking my number  
i have dimitri's number, apparently theyre close still but. i did also sorta know him when he was little. would  
rather only break the news to one distressed teenager at a time  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah, well. I can never tell with you. Just trying to make it easier, if thats even possible  
Youre gonna work your way up to Ashe by going to people that he knows first?  


* * *

christopholes  
i tried to but  
holst is chronically useless and thats saying a lot because im me and im useless  
hilda helped me more than he did. which, news flash. she knows im alive and has known for years.  
cant tell one of them without the other knowing  


* * *

Miklan  
The fuck?  
Thats nuts. Hilda and Holst are nuts. I can never tell whats going on with any of them  
At least they can keep a damn secret, Ill give them that much  


* * *

christopholes  
yeah in their defense, they'll tell each other everything but everyone else nothing at all  


* * *

Miklan  
Huh  


* * *

christopholes  
...  
i have a fucking idea  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck?  


* * *

christopholes  
hold my hand mik  


* * *

Miklan  
**?**  


* * *

christopholes  
**mikolas hold my fucking hand**  


* * *

Miklan  
**What the fuck are you planning**  


* * *

christopholes  
trust me for once  


* * *

Miklan  
Its your _plans_ I dont trust  


* * *

christopholes  
mikelangelo just lend me your blessing for the love of god  


* * *

Miklan  
For fucks sake. Fine  


* * *

christopholes  
you wont regret this  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
well  
what ideas did you have?  


* * *

Miklan  
What did you do  


* * *

christopholes  
nothing  


* * *

Miklan  
Sure  


* * *

christopholes  
literally nothing  
i broke my phone screen tho  


* * *

Miklan  
So whatever you did went badly. Alright  


* * *

christopholes  
not what i said  


* * *

Miklan  
Didnt have to  


* * *

christopholes  
mmmmmmmfhghfjhnhgnmgg  
i have to get a new phone number afk  


* * *

Miklan  
Fucks sake. I dont know what to tell you, Chris. Writing or texting is out of the question  
Is there anything I can do? Im, uh  
Talking to Ashe  


* * *

christopholes  
hey what  


* * *

Miklan  
Not about you. Just catching up, or whatever  


* * *

christopholes  
on god its not about me  


* * *

Miklan  
Im not that _damn_ stupid  


* * *

christopholes  
mm  


* * *

Miklan  
He says his birthday was a good one. Thought youd like to hear that  


* * *

christopholes  
mik  


* * *

Miklan  
What?  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
fuck off i need a new phone now  


* * *

Miklan  
You fuck off. Are you gonna bike  


* * *

christopholes  
im texting and biking shut up im replacing my number the next time i text you its with a new number  
you know the deal  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah, yeah. I know already  
**_Ashe is fucking dating someone?_**  


* * *

christopholes  
excuse me?  
nice 5 word horror story  


* * *

Miklan  
No, Im being serious. What the hell  
Hes like 5  


* * *

christopholes  
like anyone in this shit city is good enough for him  
do you know who?  


* * *

Miklan  
No  


* * *

christopholes  
useless  


* * *

Miklan  
Theyre moving in together, apparently  


* * *

christopholes  
theyre doing what  


* * *

Miklan  
Theyre moving in together?  


* * *

christopholes  
i  
fuck man the last time i saw him, he had a little crack in his voice  
im happy for him but jesus christ  


* * *

Miklan  
This is too much  


* * *

christopholes  
im sad fuck fuck  
i just have to do this up front   


* * *

Miklan  
Looks like it. I think youd both benefit from talking in person  
Texting and letters arent really gonna cut it  


* * *

christopholes  
i showed up in person to see you and you threw a glass at me  
ashe isnt nearly that violent but i know factually it would hurt  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont know what you expected  
Its gonna hurt no matter what you do  


* * *

christopholes  
whatever let me just. i need to talk to him in a way that wont make him shut me out immediately. i dont know  
how to fucking shout  
hey its your dead brother no im not lying please listen  
my head feels like its moving faster than the rest of me  
ashe isnt nearly that violent but i know factually it would hurt  


* * *

Miklan  
Easier said than done, but just relax. Its not gonna do either of you any favors if you go in there freaking  
your shit from the get go  
Ashe is a reasonable kid. Hes not gonna shut you out  
Will he be pissed? Maybe. Will he be upset? Probably. Are you still his brother? Yeah. Hell hear you out,  
one way or another  
If Sylvain can listen to my stupid ass, Ashe will listen to yours  


* * *

**Christophe catches himself typing up something horrible and he deletes it, having no idea where**  
**that came from. He has two cigarettes in his mouth at the same time now.**  


* * *

christopholes  
ya i know i just. get anxious man  


* * *

Miklan  
I mean, fuck. I dont blame you  


* * *

christopholes  
mik i need your help  


* * *

Miklan  
What?  


* * *

christopholes  
i need proof that i exist without just sending a fucking selfie  
why dont i have just a fucking cryptid photo of me that looks like it was taken by a private investigator  
through the window while im getting dunkin donuts  


* * *

Miklan  
Jesus  
Not quite that, but the bar has CCTV cameras. Those are pretty fucking grainy when they want to be  
Probably the closest youre gonna get to cryptid footage of yourself  


* * *

christopholes  
do you have just a fucking photo  
just a goddamn grainy ass photo from a video camera  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Let me look  
Probably the closest youre gonna get to cryptid footage of yourself  


* * *

christopholes  
as soon as you actually possibly can for the love of god  


* * *

Miklan  
Most of these are fucking godawful, by the way  
Hows this?  


* * *

**It's a picture taken of Chris! It's from the night they got (stole) sushi together. It's in a parking lot**  
**and relatively dark because it's probably after they just got back to the motel, but it's still very much**  
**Christophe. Can't miss the white hair and freckles.**  


* * *

christopholes  
whoa  
this works thank you youre saving my life and thats crazy  


* * *

Miklan  
Be thankful I didnt send one with your stupid underwear in it   
What are you doing?  


* * *

christopholes  
my banana ones?  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah  


* * *

christopholes  
those are good ones...  
oh god mik  


* * *

Miklan  
?  


* * *

christopholes  
im doing it i kinda did it i  
oh god  
fuck?  


* * *

Miklan  
... Fuck?  
Really?  


* * *

christopholes  
i think so  
i had to lie but i really couldnt do it any other way  


* * *

Miklan  
Damn  
My bad for doubting you. How are you, uh  
You holding up?  


* * *

christopholes  
badly  
he's going to hate me but at least i was able to get the information to him without him freaking out  
hey  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah?  


* * *

christopholes  
hey he uh  
he doesnt want to see me. but  
i tried  
our pacts done.  


* * *

Miklan  
...  
What do you mean, he doesnt want to see you? Did he tell you that?  


* * *

christopholes  
i mean he doesnt want to see me  


* * *

Miklan  
Chris...  


* * *

christopholes  
i think i just made a huge mistake and made things worse  


* * *

Miklan  
What are you _doing_ over there?  


* * *

christopholes  
i cant fake my death this time to undo this fuckup  
i fucked up worse  


* * *

Miklan  
You being vague as hell is starting to put even me on edge  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont know how to explain what i actually did  
its just extremely bad is the thing  


* * *

Miklan  
Is it too late to backtrack and come clean?  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont know what im doing im spinning a tangled web here  
mik come over  


* * *

Miklan  
Now?  


* * *

christopholes  
i need someone here  


* * *

Miklan  
Give me 5 minutes. Same address as before?  


* * *

christopholes  
wait fuck  
im stupid  
miklan im so stupid  
dont you tell me this all the time  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh  
Yeah  
Fuck. What is it with people and wanting me to kick them when theyre down  
Do you want me over, or not? Did something happen?  


* * *

christopholes  
he does want to see me  


* * *

Miklan  
So see him? Youve made it this far  


* * *

christopholes  
no  


* * *

Miklan  
Christophe.  


* * *

christopholes  
i know  


* * *

Miklan  
Im no good at pep talks or whatever, but, uh.. the band-aid thing. Just get it over and done with. If it goes  
well, it goes well. You and Ashe can work on crap. If it goes badly, Ill be there  
You know that  


* * *

christopholes  
ugh  
ok nvm pls come over  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Youre making me batty  
Hold on  


* * *

christopholes  
i wish i was even remotely sorry  


* * *

Miklan  
Cant say I dont deserve it  
Do you need anything? Want anything  


* * *

christopholes  
you  
i mean like company  


* * *

Miklan  
Whatever. Sure. I can do that  


* * *


	6. all of this is so screwed up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Christophe was pronounced dead 9 years ago, he went into hiding, afraid that the police were hot on his tail. The cult he got caught up in became labeled a hate group and they were wanted for several crimes. This is when his life of staying holed up in motels, changing his phone number constantly, and living on the run started. The only people he's ever reached out to have been his friends from childhood: Miklan, Catherine, Holst, and Jeritza. He reached out to them in 2013, three years after he'd been 'killed.'
> 
> Christophe wants to reach out to his brother, but after hiding for so many years, he's afraid he doesn't know how to come clean. He reached out initially, posing as a government agent who had discovered that Christophe survived the incident 9 years ago and wanted Ashe to know of his brother's existence. Ashe wasn't born yesterday.
> 
> Ashe gets Christophe to tell the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ashe is rped by a separate friend of mine, sabel! ashe's icon is by [this artist](https://twitter.com/Kecky415/status/1182047292674707456)!
> 
> in this chat log, christophe is reaching ashe via an account that does not have his face or name associated with it, but for ease of reading purposes i have left christophe's icon and name in tact.

  
@ christophe  
  


ashe  
hi. sorry to bother you, but i have some things to ask.  


* * *

christopholes  
Is this Ashe?  


* * *

ashe  
yep.  


* * *

christopholes  
What can I answer?  


* * *

ashe  
i was wondering... do you have my brothers phone number?  


* * *

christopholes  
I do not. Would you like me to get it for you? I have since visited his motel room and informed him as per  
your wishes. He has your number as I have given it to him.  


* * *

ashe  
that's okay. maybe later. i wanted to talk with you a bit first.  
i was wondering about what you said earlier, how my brother was a stranger to you. the way you talked  
about getting in touch with him later made it seem like you knew him after all.  


* * *

christopholes  
I do not. I'm sorry to have given you that impression. I hadn't spoken to him before last night when I came  
to him with a message similar to how I'd come to you. He changes his phone number fairly frequently, so  
tracking that down would be a bit harder than merely showing up at his residence. If you'd like to know,  
if it would bring any comfort to know, he is interested in seeing you again.  


* * *

ashe  
with a similar message? like, a text?  


* * *

christopholes  
No, I went to his motel.  


* * *

ashe  
and he just let you in?  


* * *

christopholes  
Yes, after some coaxing.  


* * *

ashe  
are you sure you work for the government?  


* * *

**Christophe jiggles his leg against the wall and then just starts kicking it fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,**  
**FUCK.**  


* * *

christopholes  
I do. I understand you're not in a position to trust me. I'm sorry I can't give more information to aid my  
credibility.  


* * *

ashe  
just be honest with me. i know you are't a secret government agent, or whatever. i want to know how you  
know my brother.  
i'm sick of being in the dark about this. and i'm not stupid, so please stop making things up.  
are you one of this friends? the two people you mentioned?  


* * *

**Christophe leaves Ashe on read for a bit, DMing Miklan at the same time.**  


* * *

are you still there?  


* * *

christopholes  
im sorry for making things so confusing for you  


* * *

ashe  
...  
just be upfront with me, will you?  


* * *

**Christophe is chainsmoking and looking at his phone with a terribly worn expression. Trying to**  
**get sympathy from him would be the most horrible action, but he does want Ashe to know how hard**  
**this is. He bites into his cigarette hard enough for it to just snap off and he burns a hole in his shirt**  
**and gets tobacco all over his mouth cause he smokes non-filters and he just...**  


* * *

christopholes  
i'll be upfront  


* * *

ashe  
...  
okay.  


* * *

christopholes  
ask me anything  


* * *

ashe  
okay. who are you?  


* * *

christopholes  
its christophe. im sorry i was afraid. im sorry i freaked you out. im sorry i didn't know how to do this right.  
im sorry it took so long. im sorry.  


* * *

ashe  
⠀⠀is it really you?  


* * *

christopholes  
it is. im sorry.  


* * *

ashe  
⠀⠀why did you feel like you had to lie?  


* * *

christopholes  
fear. shame. didnt want to hurt you.  


* * *

ashe  
i'm sorry.  


* * *

christopholes  
you dont have anything to be sorry for. all of this is so hard to explain.  
how can i do it right  


* * *

ashe  
oh, i don't know ... all of this is so screwed up that i don't think there's a gentle way to do it.  
i'm glad you told me the truth, though. i really am.  
i know it wasn't easy.  


* * *

christopholes  
its not.  
i need to explain so much.  


* * *

ashe  
yeah.  
we should talk.  


* * *

christopholes  
do you⠀⠀want to see me?  


* * *

ashe  
of course i want to see you...  
you're my brother. what kind of question is that?  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont want to assume i have a place when i spent so long without it  


* * *

ashe  
i'm not going to do that to you.  


* * *

christopholes  
...⠀⠀⠀then, you should come to my motel.  


* * *

ashe  
do you want to come here?  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont know if im nice enough for that  


* * *

ashe  
what do you mean?  


* * *

christopholes  
like... presentable.  


* * *

ashe  
christophe, that's silly.  
we're your family.  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
i mean if you think its okay for me  


* * *

ashe  
of course it is.  
just one thing, actually. um. i moved, like. just today.  
but we haven't sold our house, or anything. you can still visit it any time, if you wanted to.  
if you want to meet up there, so you can see it, we can do that. but if you want to come to the new place,  
that's okay, too.  


* * *

christopholes  
wherever you want me  


* * *

ashe  
whatever you're more comfortable with.  


* * *

christopholes  
im anxious no matter what ashe im sorry , just tell me where to go  


* * *

ashe  
okay.  
come back to the old place. then we can meet up just the two of us.  
unless you⠀⠀want to see the others today, too.  


* * *

christopholes  
i do want to see them but maybe not yet.  
im sorry  


* * *

ashe  
don't be sorry.  
i think it's better if it's just me today, too.  


* * *

christopholes  
okay.⠀⠀ill go to the old house.  


* * *

ashe  
okay. just let me know when.  


* * *

christopholes  
..,  
when?  


* * *

ashe  
um, yeah?  
like, if i should head out right now, or in an hour ... or what.  


* * *

christopholes  
ill bike over  


* * *

ashe  
right now?  


* * *

christopholes  
or n ot  


* * *

ashe  
no, that's fine! i'm just making sure.  


* * *

christopholes  
ok  


* * *

ashe  
i'll see you soon, then.  


* * *


	7. Domino's pizza thing that fucks up your piss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe is going to meet up with Ashe again, but he has a lot of paranoia and anxiety. After living on his own for so long, no therapy, no medication, he has a tendency to get too in his head.
> 
> Miklan talks him out of freaking out with some funny memes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heres some of the reasonings for the choices in my characterization of christophe:
> 
> in ashe's support with mercedes, where he's helping her with cooking, ashe says that she reminds him of his brother and how determined he is even when he makes a lot of mistakes. christophe is notoriously bad at cooking, and also just sort of... has a penchant for the bizarre. this is because he's developed hypogeusia (aggressive chainsmoking + anxiety and depression) and he typically enjoys food based on the texture of it.
> 
> christophe in canon was executed for an attempt to assassinate lady rhea, and the church covered that up and instead claimed that he was to blame for the tragedy of duscur. in this modern day au, rhea is scarcely mentioned and is instead merely the dean of the joint high school-college they all attend. instead of having anything to do with her, christophe's falling in with the western church is represented by the cult that he gets involved in. it starts out as a well-meaning civil rights group and spirals out of control when the leader starts brainwashing its members, isolating them, and leading them to do increasingly dangerous activities.
> 
> in canon, the theory that the archbishop is a heretic and should die is something that in a modern day au could be analogous to a conspiracy theory, and so christophe has a penchant of sorts for conspiracies too (not the racist or antisemitic kind, though.) 
> 
> as the years in solitude went on, christophe changed from a very open-minded gullible person into the mistrusting person he is today. rather than believing in strange conspiracies because of the thrill involved with considering the possibilities, he's become paranoid. if he could speak to a therapist, he could probably be diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.
> 
> i, the writer, have schizophrenia, so yes, i am projecting and yes he will get some help soon!

  
@ Miklan  
  


christopholes  
**mik mik mik mik mik mik mik mik mik mik**  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah?  


* * *

christopholes  
he's messaging me again  
this isn't what was supposed to happen  


* * *

Miklan  
Wait, what? Whats he said?  


* * *

christopholes  
um  
i kinda lied to him  
and he thinks im someone else  
but i was going to just, see him and blow this dumb thing behind me but now i have no idea what he could  
want  


* * *

Miklan  
One question  
Why the hell was your first instinct to lie even more  


* * *

christopholes  
miklan please  


* * *

Miklan  
Kinda defeats the point of coming clean, Chris. But whatever  


* * *

christopholes  
hey : ( i couldnt just come out and tell him that i was his dead brother, mik thats not right  
i just told him i worked for the government or whatever  


* * *

Miklan  
Fucking hell  


* * *

christopholes  
miklan im not a liar you know this i say everything on my mind and i spill secrets even on accident  
but i had to lie about this  


* * *

Miklan  
And now its biting you in the ass. Again. Do you think hes onto you? Is that why youre crapping yourself?  


* * *

christopholes  
ive been shitting neon yellow for two days now and i don't know if its the banaghetti or if its this anxiety  
miklan but im starting to think its the anxiety  


* * *

Miklan  
Thats WAY too much information for a friday night  


* * *

christopholes  
well apparently all i do is dole out too much information because ashe is picking at my words now  
what the hell is he trying to figure out  


* * *

Miklan  
Probably who the fuck is trying to message him. Youve got to admit, 'government agent with information on  
dead brother' is pretty damn suspect  


* * *

christopholes  
believe me when i tell you this was the best idea i had  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont even want to know  


* * *

christopholes  
its ok im handling it  
i just need you to be⠀⠀⠀⠀around⠀⠀like for me to just message  
or i _will_ go willy wonka  


* * *

Miklan  
Not sure I like the implicaton that Id be an Oompa Loompa but sure. Whatever  
I dont work today, so  


* * *

christopholes  
youre orange  
er than me  


* * *

Miklan  
Thanks  
If you die Ill break out into a vaguely mocking song regarding the circumstances of your death  


* * *

christopholes  
please do  
start right now actually  
im about to hang myself from how stupid i am so just please like start the song already  
i have made ashe possibly irreparably mad  


* * *

Miklan  
What the fuck happened now?  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Youre a good friend of mine but my god are you stupid  
Hes giving you the opportunity to be up front. Are you gonna take it, or are you gonna keep digging that  
hole youre in?  
Wait, hold the fuck up. Did you mention Holst and I?  


* * *

christopholes  
uh  
no  
ok that sounds sketch, i definitely did not  


* * *

Miklan  
Ashe hasnt come to beat my ass yet, so Ill trust you on that one  


* * *

christopholes  
i wouldn't do that  
but i have to tell him something  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck, Chris. Tell him... I dont know. If youre not gonna be up front, tell him youre one of your friends  
But youre just making it worse for yourself  


* * *

christopholes  
ok  
this sucks  


* * *

Miklan  
Hang in there  


* * *

christopholes  
it really sucks mij  
mikk  
this really blowss  


* * *

Miklan  
Hey.. It'll be alright. Did you.. ?  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  


* * *

Miklan  
And?  


* * *

christopholes  
im really thankful, mik  


* * *

Miklan  
.. Huh? Shit, you had me worried for a second. What for?  


* * *

christopholes  
maybe this isnt so bad  


* * *

Miklan  
Whatd I tell you! Itll all work out  
Proud of you for biting the bullet, Christopholes  


* * *

christopholes  
theres... um. still a lot to talk about with him.  
but  
he wasnt nearly as angry at me as i thought he would be. maybe it'll be worse in person. maybe ill say the  
wrong thing then.  
i deserve less than his kindness but, id be lying if i said i wasnt happy to have it  


* * *

Miklan  
I guess you cant ask for much more than that. Glad he didnt explode or anything  
So youre meeting in person after all?  


* * *

christopholes  
might  


* * *

Miklan  
Might  


* * *

christopholes  
im a mess tho  
my living quarters as it were are uhh fucking Bad dude. and no matter how many showers i take i reek like  
a seedy bar ashtray that's been tossed into the back alley  
its like the fucking shit is beneath my skin just oozing out so. bathing doesnt even fix it  
i look terrible  
ive got more wounds and bandages on me than a fucking leper colony man hes gonna take one look at me  
and be like  
what the fuck  
and you know how cute and weird ashe sounds when he cusses but itll break my dumb heart  


* * *

Miklan  
Im gonna be real damn honest here, but I dont think hes gonna give shit what you look like. Better that than  
the corpse hes been picturing  


* * *

christopholes  
i look like a burnt potato chip on two legs mik but thanks  


* * *

Miklan  
Cant argue with that. Im just saying, despite everything, its still you  


* * *

christopholes  
at least you arent sugarcoating it for me  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh-huh. Never been good at that  
If you want to at least try and freshen up, you can do it here, or whatever. The bathroom hasnt been used  
by a billion different people  


* * *

christopholes  
as a dude thats been used by a billion different people i take offense to that  
but im fine im not. getting on a bike to freshen up at your house just to bike back and be sweaty and grimy  
by the time he's here.  
i dont want to leave in case. he just shows up i dont know. i dont want to... eat. or sleep or do anything. im  
just sitting here waiting.  
brush my teeth twelve more times  


* * *

Miklan  
You wont have any teeth left to brush if you keep at it  
Thats not doing you any favours and you know it. Youll feel way shittier. I wasnt expecting you to bike,  
besides  


* * *

christopholes  
nvm  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
i gotta get outta here  


* * *

Miklan  
_Chris_  


* * *

christopholes  
i forgot im an idiot man  
im the reason our dad is incarcerated, ashe hasnt said anything about it its like hes hoping ill forget  
and then he'll show up with cops or some shit im really not smart  
i spent years having my shit together just for me to blow it wow  


* * *

Miklan  
Do you really think Ashe would do that to you?  
Think about it  
You gave him your address last night. If he wanted to send the cops, he wouldve already. Wouldnt have  
even bothered continuing the convo  


* * *

christopholes  
he was skeptical of this whole thing he didnt even know for certain  
he was so angry he sounded so hurt man and then i just said it was me and  
all of that anger just wasnt there anymore  
that doesnt make any sense its like he caught me  
mik i ruined his life  


* * *

Miklan  
.. Youre right. It doesnt. I didnt know why Sylvain forgave me, either. Still dont. Maybe he doesnt know. But  
at the end of the day, thats your brother. Trust his judgement a little and trust that he wouldnt rat you out  


* * *

christopholes  
miklan i deserve to be taken away but i dont want to be i spent so much time doing this  
what did i even do any of this for  
i need to replace my phone  


* * *

Miklan  
No. You dont. Stay put, and keep talking to me  
This is exactly why you did this. You cant keep living the way you are, Chris. I promise you Ashe isnt gonna  
call the cops  


* * *

christopholes  
ok  


* * *

Miklan  
Ok. Thank you  
Hes just not that kind of person. I know you know that  


* * *

christopholes  
i do  
kinda  


* * *

Miklan  
Kinda  
Hes still got a good head on his shoulders. Promise  


* * *

christopholes  
hes not bad its not him its me  


* * *

Miklan  
Youre not bad, either.  


* * *

**Christophe is on his third pack of cigarettes.......................... today. He just grimly regards the**  
**message with a puff and lets it sit for a bit while he contemplates passing out with the cigarette in**  
**his mouth. He doesn't know what he's feeling right now other than chronically displaced. He comes**  
**back after showering and tells himself enough goddamn cigarettes but now he wants to pop open a**  
**bottle and hes like please god can i be normal jesus christ.**  


* * *

christopholes  
hey distract me  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh  
Hold on  
  


* * *

christopholes  
  
oh god oh fuck  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Ju  
This is the kind of shit you find funny right  
  


* * *

christopholes  
kfksjdgsjere-ud8-5rd69-7f-08t0=y80-  


* * *

Miklan  
Called it  


* * *

christopholes  
you know my humor so well  
nnbhtjjggjjjnfnfngngnngn  
  


* * *

Miklan  
**more fucking hot pockets**  


* * *

christopholes  
im laughing so hard at this im choking  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
_"It tastes BAD!"_  


* * *

Miklan  
I said that  


* * *

christopholes  
ive literally made this though  
why buy it when i can make it for you  


* * *

Miklan  
Do that and Ill deliberately lose you down a crack in the floorboards  


* * *

christopholes  
ough mik please  
  


* * *

Miklan  
NO  
Is that fucking salt in the background  


* * *

christopholes  
yes do you think i dont season my fucking food  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh sorry my mistake. Of course the person who puts fucking mountain dew in ramen seasons it  
  


* * *

christopholes  
duh  
holy shit miklan im screaming at the top of my lungs actually  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Your laugh makes me feel insane  


* * *

christopholes  
this is my sleep paralysis demon now  
like this has become the new horrible thing that i see when i wake up in the middle of the night and have  
to pee  
its no longer the dominos pizza thing that fucks up your order  


* * *

Miklan  
Dont worry hes just there eating Cornn flaek  
The wwhat  


* * *

christopholes  
the  
whats his name  


* * *

Miklan  
My last driver was named Greg  


* * *

christopholes  
no  


* * *

Miklan  
For gods sake  
Hold on. I need to know now Im looking it up  


* * *

christopholes  
please god help  
  


* * *

Miklan  
You literally typed in tthe  
Im ill  
I gave up after two seconds. Found a robot that delivers your pizza but thats it  


* * *

christopholes  
**him**  
  


* * *

Miklan  
**What the fuck is that?**  


* * *

christopholes  
it fucks up your pizza  
this is what i see when i get sleep paralysis and i just wanna pee  


* * *

Miklan  
Domino's pizza thing that fucks up your piss  


* * *

christopholes  
he really fucks up my piss  
hey talking about this is making me laugh and like im almost biking onto the road but also its keeping me  
calm bc im going to ashe's  


* * *

Miklan  
Almost everything about that sentence made my anxiety spike. Pay attention to where youre going, stupid  
Do you want me to just keep talking about crap  


* * *

christopholes  
you know me im safefmsopgdo  


* * *

Miklan  
**??????**  
Hello?  


* * *

christopholes  
curb checked  
you know im safe  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Dont fucking do that  


* * *

christopholes  
im taller you cant do that  


* * *

Miklan  
I can when I take out your damn knees  


* * *

christopholes  
oh gonna put me on my knees?  


* * *

Miklan  
Can you not be a bottom for 5 damn seconds  


* * *

christopholes  
youre asking for so much of me  


* * *

Miklan  
Im literally begging you  


* * *

christopholes  
**then beg.**  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
miki minaj is your name in my phone btw  


* * *

Miklan  
Its what  


* * *

christopholes  
miki minaj  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck  
Lets go to the beach.. each.. Miki Minaj  


* * *

christopholes  
thats u  


* * *

Miklan  
Sure, whatever. Thats me  


* * *


	8. is it too late to come on home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe and Ashe have their fateful meeting, for the first time after 9 years. Christophe freaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, ashe is written by my good friend sabel!

Fuck, okay. Christophe is biking. Biking to Ashe’s house. Biking to the house that they shared once before everything went pear-shaped and he was assumed dead and his father was incarcerated. Nothing scary about that. Nothing scary at all. In fact, the constant influx of cars beside him on the road is scarier. Miklan at least seems to think so in their texts together.

Swallowing hard, Christophe sweats and pinches up his bandaged fingertips against his bike handle as he arrives on the same block, just… staring off toward the house in the distance with a vague sense of unease. His stomach feels god awful and not merely because he’s put nothing in it but cigarette ash all day. Time to… get this over with.

Christophe walks the rest of the way with his bike because it’s the only way he’s going to get to the front door. Along the sidewalk, he hasn’t spotted another car yet so he’s gotten there before Ashe. The house looks… eerily the same, only vacant. So much is the same. So much is different. The mailbox is still crooked. Christophe stands dwarfed by the big tree out front and he feels ashamed.

Maybe, if Ashe isn’t quick enough he can leave and say it was a mistake.

As he makes his way back to the house, Ashe finds that he does not quite feel like himself, though he supposes he hasn’t quite felt like himself since this ordeal began. Even so, he’s done a pretty good job of functioning regardless, if you ignore those first couple hours. He’s driven this way about two hundred times, so he can afford to kinda be on autopilot as he goes.

Though Dimitri’s in the know, his siblings are under the impression that he went back to grab something he forgot. Which is technically not a lie, if you make it into something flowery? Sort of? He doesn’t like to be dishonest, but if his own reaction is anything to go by, it’s better to time this sort of thing properly. This was not the time for this kind of talk.

It’s not a long drive by any means, but it feels like it stretches on forever. His earlier flurry of emotions had given way to a dull, aching anxiety, but he feels it ramp up again the closer he gets. ‘Oh my God please keep it together’ is a quiet request he makes of himself several times before he finally pulls into the familiar driveway, and then sits still for several moments after parking. Literally just sits there and breathes for a sec.

After convincing himself he’s got it together, he rips off the proverbial bandaid, hastily getting up and out of the car, and spots a familiar shock of scruffy, white hair against the darkness of nighttime in suburbia. He doesn’t know what he expected, exactly, but somehow despite everything, it wasn’t really this. For an excruciating moment, all he can do is stare at his brother like he’s a deer in the headlights.

Like he’s seen a ghost. Which, well… he kind of has.

It’s so dark out and really the only thing that’s illuminating the way for either of them are the streetlamps of their youth. Memories spent running, chasing each other down these roads until it’d gotten too dark to see their own shoes—wasn’t too scary, not when Lonato was counting on his son to keep Ashe and the others safe. Now that Christophe has given up that position, that right, that place in their life, it feels too charitable and unfair for them to still flicker and beam down the avenue.

Christophe has his bike postured up against the tree and he’s recalling the tree house he wanted to build in it, the one he said he would for the kids. That never came. He’s going stiff now in all of his limbs as the car makes its way into the driveway and he almost wants to slink behind the tree and pretend it’s hide and seek, or maybe that this nine year cruel game of one really isn’t about to end.

Maybe Christophe was assuming his eyes wouldn’t adjust to the dark, wouldn’t spot him under the tree, looking for all the world like a skeleton. Christophe’s got bags. His eyes are tired. His body is a willowy thing in his clothes, smothered by his jacket. Really, he didn’t grow a whole lot between seventeen and twenty-six, just skinnier, _weirder_.

And Christophe’s first words might not even hit Ashe’s ears with how it accidentally comes out—”you’re so tall now.”

Ashe is not tall. Ashe is twenty-two.

He’s not that tall, it’s true. But 5’7” is a decent difference when you’re a big brother and you’re used to 5’3”. But he is twenty-two, and his face less round and more grown up. His voice got deeper, and his accent disappeared. But he isn’t the only one who changed in nine years. 

Christophe’s words do reach him, and they immediately strike him as completely anticlimactic and silly, which seems just right, actually. Ashe’s expression softens, and he lets go of a breathe he hadn’t noticed he was holding. He wants to say something, but every attempt catches in his throat. He had a million and one things lined up to to say, but every single thing fell right out of his head the moment he laid eyes on Christophe. 

Instead, he takes a few cautious steps towards him, though he quickly finds his footing. Once he’s scampered close enough, he simply pulls his brother into a bear hug before he can notice the tears welling up in his eyes. Once he finally speaks, he can’t bring himself to say it very loudly.

“You’re really here…”

Yeah, maybe his first words after nine years, after being thought to be dead would be something more impactful but… it’s the first thing that strikes him like lightning, that hurts his chest to think about. That’s four inches of birthdays, of hair ruffles and races around the neighbourhood. That’s not a thirteen year old anymore, and it doesn’t dawn on Christophe in it’s full weight that he’d still been imagining him as such until he has to see it, and then his first instinct is to recoil.

_How could he have ever let this happen?_

Christophe fights back every urge in his body to pull away when Ashe comes toward him. The impulse is so disgusting to him, how could he feel that way toward someone that he loves more than anything else? More than anyone else—the only star he’s had in mind for so many years, even when he was absent and somewhere else, and someone else.

Ashe is holding him now. Oh god. He’s being touched by a human being that isn’t Miklan or Holst, isn’t a collector and isn’t a hookup. The grip is tight and Christophe feels his breath wheeze out of him like a squeaky toy in Ashe’s arms. And really, at first he does not return the gesture, too busy trying to remember where he is and that this is real and… _it’s not scary, it’s not scary, it’s not scary_. Ashe is family and Ashe has hurt for so long and… he can do this.

Swallowing a breath, Christophe rests his arms tentatively, anxiously around Ashe like he’s waiting for some shoe to drop, something horrible to happen, and he just says, “so I am,” with a level of awkwardness he wishes so badly he didn’t possess.

Where’s the anger? This feels… too easy.

Ashe is too wrapped up in all of it to notice any of the awkwardness coming from Christophe. This is a hug he’s been dearly wanting to give for almost a decade, that he had long since resigned himself to never being able to. But here it is, and here _he_ is, and it absolutely feels too good to be true. But he can’t bring himself to care or question it right now in this moment. That can come later.

“I’m sorry,” Ashe croaks after a while, his voice breaking slightly in a way that neither of them are likely used to hearing. He’s hesitant to pull away, so one hand stays on Christophe’s arm while the other comes up to wipe at his eyes. “I’m sorry. This is really embarrassing. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry, but..” He sniffs, helpless to stop embarrassing himself, as it were. He barely manages a half-hearted little laugh. “This-… This feels impossible.”

It takes him a few to psych himself up enough to look at Christophe properly. It’s dark, and his eyes are still watery, but the sight of him is unmistakable. Even so— or possible because of that— it’s difficult to look directly at him. He’s changed so much. They both have, but Ashe is used to himself. Christophe somehow looks exactly and nothing like his memory, and that in itself feels like a heavy testament to the years they spent apart. Christophe has grown older. Grown tired. Grown more lonely than Ashe can imagine, he figures, and his it hurts his heart to try and picture it.

Ashe apologizes and no, no no no, Christophe is shivering and it’s as though he’s going to melt out of his skin and into a muddle—like all of his clothes are going to slough off of him along with his bone and matter and… _He shouldn’t be apologizing, not for this and not for anything._

He sounds so much older, mature, post-pubescent and now his voice is breaking up like it really, really should not and Christophe has to clench him by the shoulders, his voice overlapping with Ashe’s own. “Don’t say that.” The words come out clipped and harsh, sharp and then he feels a sudden anger at himself for it.

“ _I_ did this, I…” _What the fuck does he even say?_ It’s been so long, Christophe wants nothing more than to be in everyone’s lives again but… this feels so unearned.

Gaping down at him, Christophe’s eyes wide and fearful, zigzagging across every freckle in his face, across the way Ashe now parts his hair, he finds it familiar and still so, so different and frightening. Time is scary, and he’s never been taken under by the thought any harder than when they’re inches apart.

“You’re so much older, you’re…” Christophe’s much like a broken record in his repetitious thoughts, unable to move past just one single thought: “I missed so much.” The two little ones, they’re… they’re big too, now, aren’t they, he thinks.

“I’m sorry. _I’m sorry_ ,” he corrects, his face still sketched in ache and awe, raw and splintering. His blistered, burnt, bandaged up fingers cup Ashe’s face, and still his dimmed out green irises just gawk into him, up and down. More upset settles. It flattens him like a ton of bricks and then he’s wincing. “Fuck—Ashe, _I’m so sorry._ ”

Christophe’s voice snaps him out of his own head, and about as far back down to Earth as he’s going to get today. His tone and expression is severe enough to startle him, and he does not have the heart to interject, even if had something to say.

But he doesn’t move away, either, because as strange as the situation is, it does not cross his mind to be afraid of his brother.

“Chris…” He half whispers, his voice barely more than a hush. It comes out thoughtlessly, but saying Christophe’s name to the man in question is enough to call to attention the fact that he is, in fact, speaking to him. Nine years later, he is speaking to his brother that was dead until yesterday. Ashe’s expression crumples some as a side effect of holding back fresh tears.

“I don’t hate you, Christophe.” He says, and means it, though he can’t bring himself to forgive him just yet. His voice is quiet, but it turns a little more insistent, slowly. “I don’t. Really, I don’t.”

It hurts to shatter the illusion, the love in Ashe’s eyes, in his voice and in his arms, but… if Christophe does not see something that signals this interaction as real, as a symptom of cause and effect--the aftershocks of his mistakes, of his misdeeds, he won’t be able to accept this.

If Ashe can’t express himself, it’s all for nothing. True, Christophe had a selfish heart and wanted to be seen again, wanted to love and be loved in return without much thought given to the how and why… the way familial bonds are. And true enough, he needed Christophe to take him back into his life, into his family, but…

It had to be right, fair… hurt a little. Christophe was too wary of anything perfect. He needed Ashe to cry and that’s the single most frightening thought he’s ever had.

“It’s okay if you do,” he answers back, frantic, quick, almost desperate. “You’re allowed to feel however you want, I’m so sorry.” As if anxious that his hands on Ashe will impact or influence his decisions, Christophe withdraws, curling his hands to his chest.

Nothing about him looks twenty-six but the lines in his face, the tobacco smell on him, the tell-tale signs of stress. Christophe needs to get to _some_ kind of explanation, so he tries to start with the first obvious debunks.

“I didn’t… try to fake this. This happened on accident. I didn’t… I didnt attend that event, I didn’t go, I wasn’t there so I lived, but I saw that I’d been declared dead and… I hid. I don’t know. I wanted to come out but things got more scary. I just… there’s no good time to come back to life.”

“I don’t.” Ashe insists again, hugging his arms around himself in a subconscious attempt at some kind of self-soothing gesture. “I’m… angry with you,” He starts again, making every effort to speak decisively and not start tripping over his words. “I’m really, really upset with you. And I probably will be for a while. But I don’t _hate_ you.”

Ashe breathes out a shaky sigh. Performing necromancy is no small feat, that’s true. Even when it’s figurative. As Christophe explains, he does try to imagine it for himself. He tries to picture the fear, and the loneliness, and the feeling of helplessness. The feeling of being so cornered that you could not even reveal yourself to the people who love you the most. 

“There’s no good time to do it… but it got worse the longer you waited. I don’t feel like I have to spell that out for you.”

But at the end of the day, picturing it is all Ashe can do, and he has given up on speculating overmuch, for his own sanity. Try as he might, he can’t understand it. He cannot truly wrap his head around it. And that, coupled with a newfound, visceral feeling of being _left behind_ , causes this to be the limit of his empathy. Ashe’s expression has hardened at this point, but it isn’t heartless. He can not find it in him to be heartless, even if it might make this easier. “I’m glad you’re here, Chris. I’m glad you’re alive. But I wish you’d have come home right away.”

Those words hurt.

They hurt but Christophe needs to hear them. He wanted them. He wanted them and then he regretted it, wishing Ashe’s voice wasn’t teetering so precariously on a teenage sort of crack in his throat, making everything sound all worn and _strained_ , like it’s being ripped through his esophagus. The image in Christophe’s mind is bad.

Something about the way Ashe’s words continually push and pull, insist that while he loves him and is glad to see him… there’s so much hurt, there’s so much anger, there’s so much Christophe can’t undo… it makes him feel so small and his body is wriggling in his clothes. He feels unsafe.

Clammy hands pulling at his coat, his eyes darting to the grass instead, to the bike wheel, to anything but Ashe’s sharpened stare, Christophe crumbles—his head bowed in shame could slot itself so perfectly through a rope. “I’m sorry, I…” He can’t find words.

All he wants to do is explain away the heartache, because he did this because he wanted some semblance of a life back. His lips buckle beneath the teeth he tears into them and he wants so badly to scream, _I didn’t do this for fun, I can’t go to the doctor, I can’t hold a job, I can’t go to the dentist, I’m afraid of losing my teeth, I’m afraid I’m smoking myself to death, I’m ashamed of losing my father, I’m ashamed of losing everything, I’m in pain from burning my fingers, I’m alone and it’s all my fault._

Christophe breathes hard into his hand. _This life I put myself through has hurt me far worse than it is hurt you._

But those are ugly thoughts that he should not share, that he will not share, that will not get him anywhere. Chris just… closes his eyes and almost pretends he’s in some vacuum and not here.

“I know,” he says just… vacantly. “I’m sorry.”

Because, really, when the only things he can think to say are excuses, more and more excuses, he really can’t make himself say anything at all.

Seeing him like this is utterly heart wrenching, to the point where it feels like a heavy, physical pressure on his chest rather than just an emotional weight. Before, part of him wanted to rant and yell his heart out over this entire situation. He wanted to cry and scream and pitch the lousiest, ugliest and most childish fit of all time. But seeing Christophe here, now, clearly being eaten alive not only by guilt but by the circumstances he’s fenced himself into… Ashe can’t imagine, even for a second, subjecting his brother to such a volatile and selfish tantrum. 

He doesn’t want to split hairs. He doesn’t want to compare and force Christophe to bear his hurt in addition to his own, and he finds himself dearly wishing that his very presence wasn’t such a difficult one for his brother to withstand. Even if, rationally, he realizes things have to hurt for a bit in order to heal properly.

His lip quivers and he stifles a hiccup, but Ashe is doggedly refusing to become any more of a mess than he already is, though it’s hard to say whether he’ll be able to keep it together for this entire conversation.

“Chris… Please. Look at me.” He implores, gently. “You’re okay. You’re alive… it’s not too late to- …. to…” Ashe stumbles now, and immediately berates himself for it inwardly, but soldiers on anyway. “It’s not too late for anything, alright? I’m not going to cast you out.”

Even if Ashe asks it of him, Christophe can’t lift his eyes anymore. He’s told he’s alive and he knows. It’s been a miserable decade of existence. He’s told he’s okay and really… okay is a state of being Christophe hasn’t known in that time. It’s agonizing to think about and it’s unfair—unfair to the _both_ of them that any expression of genuine emotion from the other will break them apart like glass.

It wouldn’t make sense to try and compare what they’d been through. All Christophe knows is that this is harder than he thought it’d be. Maybe being cast out would be easier, he wonders, than trying to bear building this back up. Christophe wonders, dimly in the darkest parts of his mind if this isn’t too broken. The old Christophe had trust in so much, in the kindness of people, in the ability to do right and in the love he received from other people.

Nine years in the dark made him a skeptic to humanity, the one thing he’d never questioned despite all of his fanciful theories. Nine years made him distant, self-absorbed, and frail. It’s almost as if Ashe’s little usherings for him to look to him only made him turn his face away more. Shielding his mouth with the back of one hand, settling his back against the tree, Christophe tries to think of what to say.

“I think you’re too hurt,” he murmurs, heart sinking. “I think things are just too hard right now for me to see you.” These won’t come out right, he knows it. These words are cursed.

“You have the right to be,” hurt that is. “I’m just a coward.” If nine years wasn’t an indication of how much fright exactly his scrawny body contained… Christophe feels sick. Unwilling to meet Ashe’s gaze, Christophe whispers, “I make life hard for people; the one’s who know me, the only people who have known me at all these years have had to hide my body, accept continued distance… lie.”

It isn’t said in anger, just objective truth. Fact.

“I won’t make your life any nicer,” he says and he gazes at the street like all he wants is to run.

“Whether I’m too hurt or not is for me to judge.” Ashe says firmly. The cold autumn wind is starting to make him shiver, but he’s too wrapped up in this to notice it. “I don’t hate you… I told you. I don’t expect it to be easy, but I want to be one of those people who gets to know you, Christophe.”

He struggles to keep his voice from wavering, but it’s worked well enough so far. Even so, Ashe feels like …. a kid, or something. Standing in front of his brother, glassy eyed and red nosed and trying not to cry. He’s certain they’ve done this before, but in situations with far less stakes than this. Situations like Ashe eating the last cookie and feeling so bad about it that he had to come and confess.

He sighs again, a middling effort to keep his composure in tact. “If it was my choice, I wouldn’t want to leave you by yourself anymore. But it’s your choice to make, too…”

Even now, Ashe would like to think he knows his brother well enough. So, when he follows Christophe’s line of sight out onto the street, it becomes a struggle to keep the hurt out of his expression.

“If it’s too hard to be here… if you’d rather leave, I’m not gonna stop you. We can talk again another time.”

Christophe winces. What he’d meant was… Ashe is too hurt _for him to bear looking at_. Now as the both of them struggle to get words out, to say things that they mean without growing weary, exasperated at the mere fear of being known, of feeling what they feel without apology, Christophe feels as though he’s been emotionally cryogenically frozen.

Ashe, so adult, keeps himself composed while Christophe shrinks away like a violet. Ashe, sighing, has done so much growing up throughout the years and Christophe is still seventeen somewhere, still mourning the life he can’t have anymore, still finding the world isn’t fair and looking for something to fill the ache. It feels pathetic, when Ashe tells him he can leave. Reminds him of all the times his father went to some political party and Christophe tagged along only to be disgusted by the dinner party attendees, disenchanted with the world at large and lying through big prison-bar-like teeth.

_You can leave_ , and he knows but he wanted to come here. Continually, Christophe finds himself being drawn in by fanciful ideas, the result and not what it takes to get there. All Christophe has ever been able to see is a brighter world, not the horrible things the Red Liberation did to get there. All he could see was a life lived in secrecy, not the abandonment and lies spun to sustain it. All he could see was a reunion and love, not the ugly, difficult, _mangled_ emotions that muddy up the place.

Christophe’s other hand picks at the bark flaking off of the tree, nervously. His eyebrows knit.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he says plainly. “I just wanted you back in my life.” Christophe flattens himself to the tree, crumpling in on himself as his head hangs. “I don’t know if I can be back in yours.”

It feels like no matter what he says, Christophe is going to recoil further and further. Ashe’s first instinct is to reach out to him, to pull him into another hug, or something. But he, again, knows his brother, and he can’t imagine that doing a single good thing for him right now, so he refrains. Ashe remains a few steps away, stock still. 

“I don’t know what that means, Chris.” His voice wavers again now, despite all the care he’s taken. His sense of tact is starting to deteriorate as he feels himself start to lose his emotional footing. “Why not…?” 

It’s not accusatory, nor is it meant to be pleading. It’s a true and earnest question. “I want you back in my life, too. Is that… not…” He trails off. _Is that not enough?_ is the question in mind, but Ashe thinks better of it a little too late. He doesn’t want to accuse Christophe of anything. He doesn’t want to burden him with even more guilt, either, even accidentally. He only seeks to understand at this point, but he doesn’t know how to approach that elegantly in this moment.

Ashe is beginning to sound as tired as he feels, for better or worse. “I don’t want to leave you miserable like this. But I don’t know what I can do for you if you don’t tell me…”

Christophe isn’t even entirely sure how to word this proper, what it means to want Ashe around but not want the responsibility of having to _be_ around. Ashe questions it, of course, because what could that possibly mean for either of them? Christophe’s breath comes shakingly and try as Ashe might to make the inquiries come honest, not begging, Christophe feels overwhelmed.

_I’m not enough. I can’t be enough. I can’t fix all of this. I can’t do this. He can’t be angry at me and I can’t be hurt. It won’t work, it won’t work, it won’t work._

“It won’t work,” he blurts.

On accident all the same but he spits the words under his breath, to himself but surely Ashe has not gone deaf in the time between. Shaking his head, Christophe tries to restore eye contact only for his chest to ache and his legs to wobble. His eyes stare past his hair line instead, anywhere but his face. Even from the periphery it’s unbearable.

“I mean… you… you deserve to be able to feel how you do, and… and you should. You should be upset, and angry, and hurt. It’s only fair. It’s only fair and even if you don’t hate me… you should chase that feeling until you don’t feel it anymore. Don’t stifle it or smother it down because you want me back in your life.”

Voice shouting now, “you should feel all of those things!” Christophe feels his hands along the tree for his bike and where it leans. “And… and… you shouldn’t let me stop you from that, because… because if you can’t feel those emotions then you’ll let them stew, and even if you still love me now you won’t.”

Swallowing hard, Christophe’s finger brushes the bell on his bike and he flinches at the ring. “I think… you should be mad at me, and I should go.”

When Christophe raises his voice, there’s no _immediate_ shock, or startling, or anything like that. Ashe’s face falls slowly, eyes widening, as the sentiment sinks in, and he feels like he got the wind knocked out of him. All he can do as Chris goes on is stare at him owlishly, in some kind of dull panic.

_I’m not stifling anything_ , He wants to explain. _I’m not going to smother anything over this. That wouldn’t be fair_. He wants to say, but can’t bring himself to. Ashe hugs his arms tighter around himself, feeling helpless to reach him, verbally or otherwise. He dearly wants to save this, but he can only picture himself saying the wrong thing, and ruining it further. Ashe does not want to blame himself for this, but he cannot help but wonder if it would be easier if he had anything better to say.

… So he doesn’t say anything, at first. He doesn’t shout or scream or cry or try to push his brother around. His mind races with a thousand different feelings and he cannot for the life of him articulate a single thing except one thought, that can’t really imagine turning any tables, but he feels is important enough to convey, anyway.

“I do love you,” His voice comes out smaller than before, and his eyes are getting watery again. “I’m never going to hate you.”

Do none of these words do anything? Do they penetrate that… lovingly thick skull of his at all? Christophe wonders these things, unsure as to why Ashe carries on, repeating these words as if they haven’t been said, as if Christophe hasn’t heard them, as if he hasn’t carefully considered them and been terrified by their implications.

But really… Christophe’s desire to run and hide, flee or freeze is wavering. Even as he pushes and shoves and emotionally tosses up a dozen more walls in the process, Ashe’s words don’t flinch an inch.

And Christophe digs his fingernails through his hair, roughly tugging loose the hairtie that keeps his bangs out. That’s alright. He’s got enough of a vice grip on the strands that it doesn’t matter.

“Why won’t you listen to me? I…” His breath catches, like a sharp nail on the side of a wool sweater, like _fishhooks_. “It’s all my fault, Ashe. I don’t understand. I… I lied to you. I lied to you for years, I lied again! My friend’s lied to you, I made them lie! I… _Dad is—_ ”

Oh, that’s the straw that breaks it, that makes Christophe see twelve of Ashe, that makes his whole body woozy and his head churn and spin. Nothing is making it better. He wants to be accepted, he wants to be rejected. He wants to be loved, he wants to be hated. He wants to go back in time, he wants this to have never happened. He wants this to have happened sooner, he wants this to end happily. He wants this conversation to be over.

Christophe bites into his knuckle, making a watery frown. “I love you, Ashe. I-I love you and Lucia and Alvin and I’m sorry. I can’t—I can’t do this.”

In his attempt to shift away, his ankle catches the bike stand and he staggers, stumbles, swings his arms around to keep himself upright and then embarrassment sets in, and humiliation. _You’re running away again._

That’s fine. Leave the bike there. Leave the bike and go. Go. Who can blame you?

Ashe is unable to act. He doesn’t know how to reassure him, at this point, that he _is_ listening, and _understands_ the gravity of it all. He chooses to love him anyway, and that’s all.

It’s hard to watch Christophe stumble away like this. Ashe feels that he’s left him worse than he found him, and it’s a terrible sinking feeling. Part of him is relieved that Christophe took the initiative to cleave himself out of this impossible situation, but it’s a dreadful note to leave on. He wishes it didn’t go this way.

Ashe takes the bike and tucks it away out of view from would-be bike thieves, and opts to stay behind to collect himself somewhat before the braves the drive back.


	9. why my thing go up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is where Christophe's crush gets worse, and he wants Miklan to wrangle him into a pretzel. The physical attraction is through the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> christophe had the most raging crush on miklan back when he was 17 and miklan was 18 and they were in school together. miklan was dating glenn at the time, so he kept his feelings to himself. in his adulthood, they mostly lay dormant and unattended to... but something about miklan talking about manhandling him does something for him.

  
@ Miklan  
  


christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
do kids knock on motel room doors for trick or treating you think  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont remember doing that as a kid. Maybe  


* * *

christopholes  
cool  
i dont have candy but  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Fucking christ  
Put that out so I can come and take the whole bowl  
And the lighter  


* * *

christopholes  
no  


* * *

Miklan  
And the plant  


* * *

christopholes  
youll take the lighter  
yeah see  
ass  


* * *

Miklan  
Dick  
1 cig per kid or the whole bowl and the lighter per Miklan  
Thats how it works  


* * *

christopholes  
you can take the plant thats the dude nextdoors i dont care  
its a good thing youre fucking twenty seven and too old to trick or treat you freak  


* * *

Miklan  
How am I freak for taking whats there. If you dont want anyone to steal the lighter then dont put the fucking  
lighter out there  
Whats even the point of Halloween. The older you get the shittier it is  


* * *

christopholes  
the sign says dont take it  
halloween is for kids to dress up and have fun and for adults to be slutty and giving  
pointless cause im slutty and giving all year round but  
dont take my lighter you bogart the fucker enough as it is  


* * *

Miklan  
I can never find mine. I have no idea where the hell they go  
Chris youve been slutty and giving for as long as Ive known you  
You know what the real good thing about Halloween is?  
Discount candy  
Fuck dressing up. Fuck giving people stuff. Just get the bargains when its over  


* * *

christopholes  
ok ya  
u got a point just get all the discount candy on november 1st  
its fun to walk around with a mask on and not be known by literally anyone also  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah I guess  
Always did get more candy if people couldnt tell you were the ratty kids from the neighborhood over  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
⠀⠀⠀hey  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh-huh?  


* * *

christopholes  
you remember Get The Funk Out  


* * *

Miklan  
Do I remember what  


* * *

christopholes  
that laundromat we used to hang out at like... years ago  
the one that ate glenn's quarters after he'd gotten way fucked up and just spewed all over and we had to  
fucking beg on the side of the road for some goddamn quarters  
we'd put each other in those big dumb carts and race  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh, shit. No. I do remember when you put it like that  
My cart hit the curb and I almost hit my head on a road sign. Some lady picked us up and you almost broke  
the car window crank  


* * *

christopholes  
was fun and dumb  
anyways im there right now and its weird that it still exists. theres really just a guy here doing his laundry  
and bitching on the phone to someone, i think an ex wife  
youd think these places would stop existing since we're not there  
its weird  
also her fucking car window crank was already loose  


* * *

Miklan  
You keep telling yourself that  
Is it really? I had no clue. I dont really go over that part of town anymore, not unless I have to  
Thats.. pretty weird to think about. Wonder if they fixed the fucked up dryers  


* * *

christopholes  
guy keeps fumbling with quarters while holding his phone to his ear its stupid funny to watch  
the place looks the same. same dryers. same washers.  
same counter where we'd park our asses and play uno  
same bathroom door that gets stuck  


* * *

Miklan  
Same broken sign out front that says 'pen' instead of 'open'...  
It was always warm in there. I liked it  
Better than freezing our asses off outside  


* * *

christopholes  
the place is a liminal space but in a comforting way  
anyways i cant walk the rest of the way to my motel so im camping out in here. the one thing thats  
different is the arcade machine is gone. no more galaga. but i figure its because its 2019. who plays a  
cabinet arcade game at a laundromat when you have candy crush on your phone (i dont have candy crush  
on my phone so i wouldve loved the goddman galaga)  


* * *

Miklan  
Something like that. Limbo and GTFO are synonymous. People always talk about waiting, and for what?  
Laundry, thats what  
They snatched arcade games from places years ago. The pizza joint down the street doesnt even have one  
anymore. Youd think Pacman would never go out of fashion, but whatever  
You alright?  


* * *

christopholes  
sometimes i just want to play some damn q-bert its fine tho i know ill catch him on the flipside  
im not alright but i will be dw  
the noise of the spin cycles is nice  


* * *

Miklan  
Would probably be a lot nicer without the guy arguing with his ex  
If you want to talk about it, youre allowed to  


* * *

christopholes  
hearing another human being is sort of nice in the detached way  
like being in a busy area and not being expected to speak to anyone but still being around someone, idk  
i beefed it man  


* * *

Miklan  
Sure. I get you  
Beefed what?  


* * *

christopholes  
went to see ashe  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh  
Fuck, Chris. What happened?  


* * *

christopholes  
just freaked out  
i dont know  


* * *

Miklan  
It was big of you to go. I dont blame you  


* * *

christopholes  
guess so  
on my 2th cigarette  


* * *

Miklan  
You guess  
Cmon, it was. You havent seen him or much of anyone in years  
Give yourself some credit. Also maybe be careful not to set the place on fire  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
thanks, i appreciate it  


* * *

Miklan  
Ya  
Are you seriously gonna - hold on  
Give me a second  


* * *

christopholes  
wa  


* * *

Miklan is calling! Pick up, bastard.

Nhghg… he does.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s rustling on the other end.

“God, texting whilst doing anything is a pain in the ass. Anyway. Are you seriously sleeping in a laundromat?”

“Yeah.”

Pretty… monosyllabic. The soft roar of washing machines are in the background.

“You’re nuts.”

It’s equally as flat. There’s no particular anger or amusement.

“Pistachios.”

“Walnuts.”

“Can’t you call a cab?”

“Probably.”

“You don’t seem that fussed.”

“M’not.”

“Christ. Careful someone doesn’t, like-”

There’s a quiet huff and the sound of a couch being plopped down on.

“Rob you, or call the cops on you, or some shit. For ‘loitering’.”

There it is.

“You’re right.”

“I should get a move on.”

There’s a bell ringing sound, a sudden roaring from what is cars beyond the sidewalk, then a consistent tapping.

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ll thank yourself for it. Motel bed has gotta be more comfortable than the shitty chairs in there. Did they still have those? The plastic ones?”

“Yeah.”

God only knows what he’s responding to.

“I was in there because it’s raining.”

“Oh.”

He hadn’t noticed. Miklan is rubbing his temple. Half heartedly he offers,

“Put your hood up.”

Genius.

“It is, genius.”

Seems Chris agrees.

“Well, fuck. It’s not like I can see you.”

All he can see right now is the tv. What the fuck is even playing? The news? Get out of here.

After a long pause, he coughs.

“Sorry about, uh… What happened with Ashe. By the way.”

Christophe’s nose crinkles, he frowns.

“Not nearly as sorry as I am.”

“Well, yeah. But. You get what I mean.”

He’s picking at the fabric of his pants.

“Did Ashe say something, or?”

“What kind of question is that?”

Christophe sounds confused and a bit testy, but then his voice chills back into it’s consistently guilty cadence.

“No, he didn’t. If by that you mean did he say something upsetting that caused me to freak it, he didn’t.”

“Just wondering what it was that made you flip your shit. That’s all.”

“All you’ve told me is that you beefed it, which could be anything.”

“It just means I couldn’t handle it.”

“I thought you wanted this.”

It’s not intended to be a jab, or an accusation. He just wants to understand.

“Hey, man-- don’t say that. You know I do.”

“So… What? What now?”

“What do you mean what now? I-”

Christophe grunts angrily and a car horn honks loudly for a solid five seconds before it fades away.

“…Sorry, I’m frazzled. I don’t mean to sound snappy.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing now, just… might try to talk to him again later.”

Miklan white guy blinks.

“If you could not die on the phone to me, that’d be great.”

“Don’t worry about it. This shit isn’t exactly a walk in the park, you’re allowed to be frazzled.”

He runs his hand through his hair, scratches at his cheek.

“Yeah? That’s not a bad idea… Talk to him through text, or whatever. It’s less daunting.”

“Bimbo didn’t know where he was going. Like me fucking neither but I’m not driving a 4,000 pound death machine.”

“I don’t exactly know… when to text him. When it’s okay to say hey I really goofed up this one.”

“Isn’t that the guy from The Hobbit? I think he did know. That’s, like, the whole plot of the fucking movie. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know. Ignore me.”

“Whenever you’re ready for it, I guess. No point rushing it a second time. You’re just gonna get cold feet again.”

“I wish you knew actually anything.”

Sounds like Christophe is home. The roar of the cars is gone and the slam of a door is heard, followed by the locking of several locks.

“Fucking hell.”

“Fuck you.”

It’s tired. There’s a momentary crackling from the other end, the sound of Miklan moving the phone from one ear to the other.

“I mean it, though. Just - I don’t know. Give yourself some time, yeah? Sleep, or… fucking, make some Froot Loops chicken.”

“Will you try some?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, I’m sad. That means you gotta have some.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Ya.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Come get some.”

“I’ll come wrangle you into a pretzel. How’s that?”

“Is that supposed to scare me or excite me, I can’t tell.”

“You’re a motherfucker.”

He says that, but he’s cackling.

“Whatever floats your boat.”

Christophe blinks.

Then he starts laughing, sort of breathy and sheepish.

“Um, yeah. S-so.”

“I should figure out what the hell to have to eat.”

“Probably.”

“You go do that. I won’t keep you anymore.”

“You’re not keeping me, um.”

He chuckles some.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll go. Thanks for uh. calling me. I guess. It was nice.”

“Uh.”

“Uh.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s alright.”

“Night, Chris. Look after yourself, or whatever. Don’t go doing anymore stupid shit at the laundromat.”

And then he’s gone. Click.

“Yeah, night.”

Click.

“ _What the fuck_.”


	10. Despite everything you ever did to hurt me,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain has settled after the shock of being disowned by his family, and tries to have a normal conversation with his brother. He purposely sends him a bunch of niche sibling memes with the aim of making Miklan feel bad, and eventually the two hash out some really difficult and hard feelings for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sylvain is not lying to miklan, he really does take ambien every night because his untreated childhood trauma more or less led to him developing frequent night terrors. he does not disclose those exact words to him since he doesnt feel like he needs to push it in his face or make it obvious that he's often the content of his bad dreams.

  
@ Miklan  
  


Sylvain !  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

Sylvain !  
is that just a fucking picture of you dude  


* * *

Miklan  
Dont worry about it  


* * *

Sylvain !  
yeah no shit id expect you to have the ugly ass emoji mask but whered you get a fucking gun  
think you open a bar and now youre hard and shit  
never been to prison  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Its plastic, genius  


* * *

Sylvain !  
no shit it is  
hold on  


* * *

Miklan  
What the hell are you doing?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
you know what i want you to guess  


* * *

Miklan  
Thats terrifying  
I dont know  


* * *

Sylvain !  
i was just gonna grab another stupid meme but i was curious as to what you were thinking  
this meme but that one time you got grounded on for fucking real ass thanksgiving and they sent you  
to bed without dinner and i grabbed you a whole turkey leg and half of the mashed potatoes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Holy fuck  
Didnt you put the mashed potatoes in your pockets, or something. I dont think the lint was there when  
they cooked it  


* * *

Sylvain !  
where was i supposed to put it  
i was like seven  


* * *

Miklan  
Beats me. At least it wasnt your shoes  


* * *

Sylvain !  
oh hey i found you  
  


* * *

Miklan  
The swing one... Real  
  


* * *

Sylvain !  
no wait no wait  


* * *

Miklan  
What  


* * *

Sylvain !  
i can actually physically hear these images  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Bottom right looks familiar. Swear I did that off the couch once  


* * *

Sylvain !  
lived for the days when my brother would leap off the couch like matt hardy and crack my skull into the table  
oh oh o h  
what about this one  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Looks about right  
What about this one  
  


* * *

Sylvain !  
those fucking chicken legs  
wide as fuck  
yea that was abt right  
man i never got yelled at but you knew it was bad when i was getting an assbeating  
  
like oh damn mik the fucking garbage needed to be taken out for two weeks its cool that you finally  
got to it the moment that sylvain is getting a whooping and put in his room  
on god they'd really just let you do all those chores and wait for you to be done to come for you  


* * *

Miklan  
Sometimes theyd even give me extra chores because they knew I wouldnt say no. Do the dishes. Run the  
vacuum around  
Then mom would hone in the minute I was done, and wed both be sat on our sorry asses in our rooms  
At least the house was clean  


* * *

Sylvain !  
dad coming to get that ass the moment you stop dusting and decide to sit down and look at a fucking  
singular pixel on the television  
  


* * *

Miklan  
STOP  
When you take your ass to bed in hopes theyll forget but they dont  
  


* * *

Sylvain !  
its so fucking funny and also fucked that they'd do that its like  
me, going to bed, sleeping peacefully: there is no shitting way theyre going to drag my child ass out  
of bed to go full monkey throwing shit  
them, doing that:  
  


* * *

Miklan  
What the fuck was their problem even  
Did they just have nothing better to do  
No time for missionary with the lights off or what  


* * *

Sylvain !  
last time i visited i saw that they had repurposed your room into some kind of fucking. sun room. they  
tore the wall down and put a sliding glass door to the side yard. but  
_my_ room had been repurposed to be dads so  
they clearly dont sleep in the same bed anymore  
dunno what their problem was then but i wouldnt be surprised if they just fucking hated each other  
lmfao  


* * *

Miklan  
A fucking sun room? What  
Wouldnt even surprise me either. They werent exactly, uh  
I dont know. Lovey dovey. Normal. Even before you were born they were way different in public than  
they were at home  
Went to a party with them, once. Mustve been about seven. Someone told me "good luck"  


* * *

Sylvain !  
  
and that man was albert einstein  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

Sylvain !  
obligatory joke abt how you dont need to be einstein to know our parents were fucked  
that fucking sucks though like  
i guess theres nothing anyone can really do but the sheer idea that there was someone out there man  
that knew something, knew they were garbage ppl, enough to tell it essentially to their own kid  
like i dont know _what_ anyone wouldve done but that kind of open secret shit is vile  


* * *

Miklan  
They were all too up eachothers asses to step out of line and say something. Just dont make eye contact  
and hope it sorts itself out, or doesnt exist, because having them both as a friend is way more valuable  


* * *

Sylvain !  
swhy between you and me im not super fond of rod.  
guy could be worse guy could be better  


* * *

Miklan  
Mm. No, I get you. Cant say I disagree  
The guy was better than they were, but hes not exactly a saint  


* * *

Sylvain !  
yeah  
hey mik  


* * *

Miklan  
What?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
are you really sorry  


* * *

Miklan  
... Yeah. Of course I am. I told you I was, and I meant that  
Even looking at those damn memes earlier, I wanted to apologize again  


* * *

Sylvain !  
cool thats all i wanted to know  
if you really mean it then can you finally tell me what happened  


* * *

Miklan  
What do you mean?  


* * *

**Sylvain flinches some, genuinely unsure if he's gonna snap at him or get rude when he says it.**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
whered that scar come from. what happened back then.  


* * *

**Oh, cool. Cool, cool, cool. Miklan opens the message and then locks his phone again in the same**  
**breath. He's immediately on edge; not quite sad, not quite irked, but... alert. He doesn't want to do**  
**this over text. In fact, he doesn't want to do it in general. He leaves Sylvain on read for a while.**  


* * *

Miklan  
I thought you already knew the answer to that  


* * *

**Sylvain isn't used to Miklan being reliable, nice, Reasonable At All, so when he's left on read Sylvain**  
**just kinda rolls his eyes and leaves his phone on the counter while he makes himself some pasta.**  
**Thus, after Miklan sends his own message, he too has to wait a while before Sylvain comes back to**  
**his phone. Sylvain has buttered noodles in a pot and, oh, guess he actually did answer. Cool. Now**  
**he doesn't have to be testy and mean about something sensitive.**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
you didnt tell me much of anything and i hate to be the one to remind you  
but you know our parents didnt tell me anything  
anything that was actually anything  


* * *

Miklan  
For fucks sake  
Useless. The both of them  


* * *

Sylvain !  
worse than that  


* * *

Miklan  
Just complete fucking wastes of oxygen  
I dont want to know what they said. I dont care, even. Probably the same bullshit that had everyone calling  
me a murderer for the first few months  


* * *

Sylvain !  
when have i ever told you shit theyve said about you mik  


* * *

**Sylvain feels genuinely angry and sad when he types that, rubbing his forehead and shoveling**  
**pasta into his mouth.**  


* * *

i never believed it okay just. if you want to make things right i want you to talk to me. sorry to be  
unreasonable.  


* * *

Miklan  
You arent...   


* * *

**The subtle tone shift makes him feel guilty. He curses out loud, at nobody in particular.**  


* * *

Fucks sake. You arent being unreasonable. I dont give a shit about them anymore but thinking about  
how they handled it and continue to handle it is beyond me. Like they used all of it to perpetrate their  
weird little agenda  
I hate it. They made it out to be something that it wasnt, and I just  


* * *

**Miklan spends a long time typing, deleting things, typing again. He has to figure out how to**  
**word it.**  


* * *

It was an accident. I have no idea if you know that, or what, but it was  


* * *

**Interestingly enough, that time wasn't Sylvain being sarcastic. He genuinely felt as though there**  
**was no correlation between their reconciliation and feeling owed the truth over this. Still, he bites**  
**his fork and bends it.**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
Car accident?  
i mean i just kinda  
i could try and suss some things out on my own even if you didnt want to say anything and they only  
wanted to tell me foul bullshit  
but i still dont. know  
like  


* * *

**Sylvain has never believed that Miklan was a murderer, clearly, obviously. It was never a question.**  
**However, he still has no idea on... the finer details, and his eyebrow furrows as he mulls over the**  
**possibilities, really having no clue that it's less Miklan's fault than he could imagine.**  


* * *

were you guys being unsafe or something? were you guys fucked up or something is that why everyone  
was so pissed and blamed you? was something just in the road? what kind of accident leads to everyone  
putting a target on you? i don't understand it.  


* * *

**Miklan gets the text and has to fight back the overwhelming urge to smash the screen against the**  
**counter top. Though the phone is spared, his kitchen wall finds itself with an ugly dent in the**  
**plaster. It almost seems like he's left Sylvain on read again, until...**  


* * *

Miklan  
Why the fuck is your first thought that we were fucked? Or doing something wrong? This is _exactly_ the  
kind of shit that made people point fingers in the first place. Because it was me driving, because I must  
have been being irresponsible, because shit like this doesnt happen to good people who watch themselves.  
No, we werent fucking drunk. No, there wasnt something in the road. Do you wanna know what the hell  
happened? Someone else hit my car. _They_ were drunk. No amount of being safe is gonna help you  
when some dickhead is driving down the wrong lane at full speed.  


* * *

Sylvain !  
hey fuck. im . im sorry i just. the way mom and dad always spoke about it i thought.  
i didn't think they could be so heartless as to call something like that your fault when you clearly. when .  
like how could you have done anything against that?  
i'm fucking sorry. i don't know why i thought even for two seconds that they had a point. or even an iota of  
some kind of... reasoning. for why they've ever blamed anything on you.  
if the other guy was fucking drunk, if the other guy was goddamn impaired then how the fuck are you to  
blame in any way shape or form other than just being fucking you and being the one that gets blamed. im.  
sorry i just assumed that if any blame had been pinned it was because there was something. even  
something so small. even something like... you didn't swerve away from a fucking deer or you _did_ and it  
ended badly. i dont know.  
...you really did nothing and they twisted everything up.  


* * *

**Oh, Miklan doesn't know how to feel about that. Being given affirmation. An apology. He's so used**  
**to being met with skepticism and thinly veiled disgust from people who know about the case,**  
**remaining quietly adamant that Miklan must have had something to do with it, somehow. He feels**  
**nauseous. The hole in the wall is glaring.**  


* * *

Miklan  
I didnt. I would never have done something like that. Not to him, not to anyone. I know I used to get a little  
rowdy in the car with my music and whatever the hell else but I was never...  
I was careful. But maybe not enough. I dont know  


* * *

Sylvain !  
you loved him i know  


* * *

**God fucking dammit, Sylvain has never felt like he's done anything wrong to his brother apart from**  
**breathe next to him on a bad day but... he feels like he's actually done something bad here and for**  
**some reason, that feels good and bad at the same time. Like he can hurt Miklan now. Like they're**  
**on even ground now. Like he's no longer in a fucking headlock by his older brother. Like they both**  
**have the power to stomp on each other and he could if he wanted but... it's already happened on**  
**accident and he can barely be happy over that achievement. It feels hollow.**  


* * *

dont say that.  
you didnt do anything wrong.  


* * *

**_Despite everything you ever did to hurt me, I know you'd never hurt or endanger him._**  


* * *

i'm sorry anyones ever said that you did.  


* * *

**There's a long, long pause, because it's all just too much. Miklan thought he exhausted himself**  
**and got it out of his system after his breakdown at Holst's house, but clearly not. Something about**  
**hearing it from Sylvain, who owes Miklan nothing, who has every right to simply tell him to fuck off,**  
**or to get over himself, manages to push him over the edge for the second time in nine years. He**  
**doesn't deserve the apology. He doesn't deserve Sylvain's kindness. But god, does he grab a hold**  
**of it between the odd hiccup and strangled sound of him trying not to howl in his apartment. His**  
**fist hurts. His chest hurts.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Sorry  
For getting snippy at you. Earlier  
I just. I dont know  
Thanks  
Ive been wanting to hear that for a long time. Just from anyone. Didnt think itd be you, but  


* * *

**Sylvain worries that he's really upset Mik until he responds, and then he relaxes considerably,**  
**because 'sorry' and 'thanks' are in short supply from him. So he cherishes hearing it.**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
im sorry for poking a nerve. it happens.  
you know i wouldve been on your side, right mik?  
if instead of pushing me in the dirt, if youd talked to me at all about anything...  
it couldve been us against them you know  
it didnt have to be how it was  
you say youve wanted to hear that for a long time and i cant help but think that you really just dont get  
how i feel  
its alright, i dont think anyone ive spoken to about you does  


* * *

Miklan  
I guess...  
I didnt really think about it at the time  
It was easier to pin the blame on someone else than to accept they were just terrible people, you know?  
And that was shitty of me. Didnt do anyone any favors in the end  
We couldve been a good team, I think. Maybe. Two scrawny kids against two airhead adults  
But you can tell me, if you want. How you feel, I mean. If thatd help you. Its kind of the least I can do  


* * *

Sylvain !  
haha yea maybe  
...  
you sure you want that  


* * *

Miklan  
Doesnt matter if I want it or not. This is for you. Just do it  


* * *

Sylvain !  
not to be a prick  
but who cares unless you want to know  
no wonder youre probably still single. even if you dont fucking care to hear something, if you want the  
other person to feel obligated to share, at least lie and pretend that you wanna hear it. it'll make  
conversations like this so much easier for you.  


* * *

Miklan  
Ha. Fuck  
Alright. No, I want to hear it. If I didnt I wouldnt have bothered asking  


* * *

Sylvain !  
no shit. youre probably incapable of putting yourself through bullshit you dont wanna. youre just that kind  
of creature.  
but since you wanna know  


* * *

**Sylvain bites into his lips, shaking a little and not quite knowing why. Even after these**  
**conversation's they've had lately, Sylvain still feels like his brother's going to take his head off,**  
**put up a front of excuses, and it takes just a touch of anger for him to actually speak.**  


* * *

i dont know how i feel but no one seems to understand it when i talk about you. no one except maybe this  
lady im talking to now. everyone tells me how valid i am to hate you. ive even been told i shouldn't forgive  
you. if you were anyone else's brother i might tell them the same. if you were anyone else i might think just  
as nastily of you as anyone else does.  
but i dont.  
if felix's brother had broken his pinky finger, sprained his arm being tossed down a manhole i think id hate  
him. i think id be disturbed. i think id wonder how it is that you could do something like that and not know  
the consequences. i think id be able to understand why it is that everyone around me hates you so fucking  
much. i think id get it.  
but i dont.  
...and i c ant.  
you sit in a weird place for me, mik. i saw you just, chatting with people regularly in the group chat and it  
made me feel so fucking strange. for a guy who forgave you, i sure as hell felt... weirded out and i stayed  
out of the gc. maybe its just because it feels like two worlds interacting that shouldnt.  
maybe it just feels like... i _dont_ think you should be judged for the rest of your life for some shit you did  
when you were a child, a teen, a fucking abuse victim no different than me. but at the same time its so  
fucking hard to think about the people who look at me, looking at you and seeing... something. i dont know.  
i dont fucking want anyone to hate you either. sometimes i think my life would be better if you existed in a  
vacuum of some kind and outside of us sending each other the occasional message, you just... didnt touch  
any other part of my life.  
but you deserve more than that. and i think our... i dont know what youd call this. budding relationship?  
from the ashes of whatever the fuck youd call the abusive trainwreck before... i think that deserves better  
than for me to feel this way.  
but i do.  
i dont hate you. and it seems like everyone wishes i did. and i dont know if any of this made any fucking  
sense because . because mik you made my head a hard place to navigate and goddamn understand but.  
i love you.  
now. go ahead and be mad or whatever.  


* * *

Miklan  
No, it..  
That makes sense. Im not gonna be _mad_ at you for feeling that way. I told you before that I didnt expect  
the apology to be a quick fix, or to. Magically wipe away everything going on in your head. Thats not how  
any of this works, much as I wish it did. If Im mad at anyone then its myself  
Thanks for - not beating around the bush, I guess. For being up front about it. Youre talking to a therapist,  
right? Thats good. And I hope to whatever damn God there is that you get something positive out of it  
I wish I could do more than apologize and hope that it doesnt come across as taking the easy way out.  
Feels kind of lackluster, in comparison to everything. But you know that you dont have to hurry up and be  
buddy with me just because I said sorry, yeah? You can tell me to knock shit off, or to stay away from your  
friends until you figure stuff out. Its not gonna kill me  


* * *

Sylvain !  
well. i know it wont kill you, you have an entire circle of friends of your own. i just dont want to feel the way  
that i do. i liked sending pics back and forth and just kinda shooting the shit. i started to get really sad  
midway through like... why couldnt we have just had this. why couldnt it always be this. i like talking to you  
but its... weird. when we're not bitching at at each other. i just feel like im waiting for you to do something  
to me. and i dont like saying this bc fuck knows you dont need anymore reminders of the shit you did. that  
feels counterproductive. theres no point in you apologizing to me if im just gonna make you feel like  
garbage.  
i am seeing someone yeah. she seems to be the only one that doesnt look at me like im crazy when i say  
that i still love you. maybe not fucking like you often but those are different things. i dont, imagine you  
like me very much either.  
ugh  
mid-way through saying this batch of thoughts i just started feeling gross. im sorry im saying all this shit  
at you.  
i cant even get these words out without feeling sick.  
ill leave you alone now i guess. i dont know haha. dont wanna disgust you anymore  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck. Sylvain, dont. You dont have to do that. And stop apologizing to me, because youre not in the wrong  
Spilling and then ducking out is just as counterproductive. Even if theres not much I can say, or that you  
want me to say, I can still listen to it. I want to, even. Shit isnt going to go anywhere otherwise, and thats  
just even more frustrating. Youve already come this far  
I dont... hate you, by the way. I know I bitch at you, but. You dont fucking... youre not disgusting, or gross  


* * *

Sylvain !  
well  
speaking of things that... we've wanted to hear for a long time  


* * *

Miklan  
Huh  
Well... You know, now  


* * *

Sylvain !  
so do you  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah. Guess I do  


* * *

Sylvain !  
um  
anyways  
you can dm me whenever you want, ive decided. and talk to whoever. i dont particularly care.  
and... you arent going to listen to this, and you arent going to do this, and we both know this so dont  
worry but  
if for once, you want me for something im around.  
i can listen too.  
the real kind too, not just the fake kind.  
sounds fucked up and backwards that id ever want to do that but coming to you for things is weird.  
maybe you should set the precedent first  
eventually i dont want the jokes between us to be how funny it was that you used to hurt me  
because its not funny.  
_this_ is funny  
  


* * *

Miklan  
WWhat the fuck  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀No, uh. Yeah. Ill... keep it in mind  
The offer, I mean. To talk. Sometimes I dont have much to say, and you know Im not exactly a wordsmith,  
but I can make an effort  


* * *

Sylvain !  
thats a picture of us laughing at jokes that are actually funny  
like  
you ever had cho before?  


* * *

Miklan  
Cho?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
cc⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ **cho mama?**   


* * *

Miklan  
.  
**Sylvain**  
Shes cho mama too  


* * *

Sylvain !  
  


* * *

**Sylvain is laughing and he's... tearing up for some reason? God, whatever. Sometimes... cho mama**  
**jokes just get you.**  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Hey  
Speaking of jokes and my woes, do you want to see some shit thats both combined  


* * *

Sylvain !  
go for it  


* * *

Miklan  
Great. Thanks. Nothing has been rubbing me up the wrong way lately except this fucking thing  
That a friend of mine made  
  
And I know you said that I have friends, or whatever, but I think these guys are more like enemies  
Not just of me, but of the state  


* * *

Sylvain !  
hey what  
that looks like a drumstick.. lucky charms... fusion from fuck  


* * *

Miklan  
Froot Loops chicken  
Every time I think about it, it pisses me off  
Its been like a week  
Maybe longer  


* * *

Sylvain !  
i  
like whyd he make it  


* * *

Miklan  
To eat  


* * *

Sylvain !  
that looks diseased  
no he didnt  


* * *

Miklan  
_Thank_ you. Thats what I said  
Yeah  


* * *

Sylvain !  
he _made_ that to send to you and piss you off with is what he did  


* * *

Miklan  
No, he made that to eat. I wish he made it to piss me off  


* * *

Sylvain !  
miklan dude  
im telling you now the guy is trolling you  
and you are falling for it  
hes probably the type of guy to purposely eat a fucking kitkat the wrong way just biting into the damn  
thing across multiple bars just to cause discord  


* * *

Miklan  
Hes got problems, Sylvain  
He probably would. But hed also enjoy it. And eat it that way again, because its convenient, and  
controversial, or whatever  
He eats cigarettes  
Just swallows them when hes done  


* * *

Sylvain !  
hold on  
i have something for you to give to him  


* * *

Miklan  
God. What  


* * *

Sylvain !  
is this him  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah  
Yeah. Yeah  


* * *

Sylvain !  
HES Is Your MotherFucker Boy  


* * *

Miklan  
I HATE This Man.  


* * *

Sylvain !  
man when you decided to work at a bar you chose to meet people like this  
dik what to tell u  
⠀⠀⠀⠀..............idk*   


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck. Tell me about it. You think youve seen low, and then you see a guy after hes hit his alcohol limit  
Ive known this guy for ages, though. Not exactly a patron  


* * *

Sylvain !  
good thing i dont have one of those  
wow so you willingly choose to keep frooty pebbles drumstick around  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah? I always pictured you as a lightweight. Dont know why  
Guess I did. Hes a freak, but. You know  
Friends, or whatever  


* * *

Sylvain !  
yeah i hold it well  
well freaks keep freak company!   
except holst  
mmm holst   


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

Sylvain !  
you still should give him my number  


* * *

Miklan  
Im not giving him your phone number  
He wouldnt even call it, anyway. The idiots always busy  


* * *

Sylvain !  
yea  
busy  
**with me**  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  
You fucking wish  


* * *

Sylvain !  
maybe i do!!! this is the longest ive been single im going crasy.  


* * *

Miklan  
Its  
Been a week  


* * *

Sylvain !  
yeah? unbearable  
whats your streak looking like  


* * *

Miklan  
Including or not including flings  


* * *

Sylvain !  
EW  
GROSS  
UGH  


* * *

Miklan  
You asked, shithead  


* * *

Sylvain !  
not including flings like whens the last time you dated someone not just been a whore   


* * *

Miklan  
  
Like, 9 years. Get on my level  


* * *

Sylvain !  
oh  
damn  
well now i look like a shithead  
whats it with flings included  


* * *

Miklan  
A hell of a lot less  


* * *

Sylvain !  
wait WAIT NEVER MIND I DONT WANNA KNOW THE LAST TIME YOU FUCKED  
ok good answer  


* * *

Miklan  
My god. I love you but you are giving me problems  
In large quantities  
And in rapid succession  


* * *

**... That three letter phrase comes out of Miklan for the first time ever, and Sylvain...**  


* * *

Sylvain !  
ohof . h ? ⠀⠀h u  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀⠀⠀?  


* * *

Sylvain !  
⠀hw oa  
**m**  
ambien  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀What  


* * *

Sylvain !  
oh g⠀⠀i guess u dont know  
i take⠀ambien to sleep  
it s⠀⠀be hittin different , hogi  
hrogn  


* * *

Miklan  
Ambien⠀⠀⠀be hitting different.⠀⠀Sure, alright  


* * *

Sylvain !  
sosso tired  
have togo now  
right nwo  
gog ogood tlalk  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh. Sure, yeah. See you  


* * *

Sylvain !  
hye i mean it  
very good, talk, good  


* * *

Miklan  
Im trying really hard to take you seriously. Really, really fucking hard  
It was good. Thanks  


* * *

Sylvain !  
it was good,  
fuckng  
goodnight⠀⠀fat head⠀⠀ weill talk againsoon  


* * *

Miklan  
Night, small head   


* * *


	11. juul seller? [P]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the year 2010, a couple of boys were having fun before anything horrible ever happened. Here's some of their shenanigans.
> 
> Christophe loves animals. Christophe also loves Miklan. Miklan loves Glenn.
> 
> So it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the 2010 flashback rps are full of humor and jokes that are not local to the time period of 2010. bear in mind that we were just having fun, and also it takes place on alternate earth anyways so whos to say these memes and lingo didnt exist back then?
> 
> also the group chat name is an inside joke between them. no, i will not be explaining the origins.

  
# get_the_freka_omega  
  


Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
What fucking time is it I feel like Ive been asleep for 50 years  
Where even am I  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
im too faded rn  
how long did you sleep exactly?  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Dunno  
It was light out when I fell asleep and it isnt anymore  
Figured out where I am, though  
Mustve fallen asleep in the barn or something. No fucker bothered calling me inside  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
at least yr phones not dead  
the fact that your family is wealthy as a motherfucker and has a barn is weird.  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Its cuz theyre wealthy that theyve got shit like this  


* * *

**It's a picture of Miklan's leg. He's laying on a haystack, and his horse Burger is biting at his jeans.**  
**He cares her.**  


* * *

They barely even use half of it  
Like the damn boat  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
do they feed your damn horse cause it apparently wants your blue jeans  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
Who doesnt  
Theyre good jeans  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i should go shopping...  


* * *

**Christophe sends a picture of his lap, his pants on fucking god look like[this](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/631160641654226945/637846753177108540/image1xxl.png).**  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Im gonna kick your ass  
Those arent even jeans anymore  
Essence of jeans  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
they still work  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
What would you even wear with those? Please tell me your shirt isnt ripped to hell and back too  


* * *

**Christophe takes a selfie, his expression something like while hes in a The Rasmus t-shirt,**  
**the shirt looks worn but not torn. Also behind him is an alpaca.**  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
see  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Tch.⠀⠀Ill allow it  
What the hell is that in the background  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
who doesnt like the rasmus?  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Im talking about the alpaca  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
oh hes just vibing  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Fair enough  


* * *

**Miklan sends another selfie. He's in it, this time, and looks vaguely like It's very evident he**  
**hasn't bothered moving despite complaining about being outside.**  


* * *

Just vibing  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you look confused  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I just look like that  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
yeah its hot  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
Thanks  
Love a man who has no idea what the fuck is going on ever  
Its why Holst is sexy  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i feel thats why all of us here have sex appeal  
put us on a scale of knows whats going on the most and knows whats going on the least  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I dont even think I can  
Holst is at the top but other than that it all kinda blurs  
Wait Glenn knows whats up the most  
Me and you are in idiot limbo  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
im woke tho and your not  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thinking the moon landing was fake doesnt make you woke, stupid  
Im older than you  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
being older doesnt make you woke, stupid  
im dual enrolled and youre not  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Whatever  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
when you write a paper on the defending the promotion of philanthropy in the liberal democratic state you  
too can be woke  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I did my paper on the structural functionalist versus the conflict approach to social stratification   
But that was ages ago  
Education is a sham and I cant be fucked anymore  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
youre smart as fuck mik  
you know that you can apply yourself even if no one but like, us here pay attention to it  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Whats the point? Its not like it does anything for me  
Im not working my ass off just so someone else can come along and do one better  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
like who  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Like everyone  
Any time I do something, some fucker has to one up me. It pisses me off  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
give me a second  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
me showing up at your door to tell you that youre cool and shit  
  
i tried to find a normal meme  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Damn...  
Youre cool too, or whatever  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
fat ass pigeon  
for what its worth, you can like  
do shit with your life that has fuck all to do with your family so  
do that shit for yourself man  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Me and my fat ass  
Yeah, I guess. Im just tired. I cant be bothered with that anymore  
Sucks shit to pour so much time and energy into something only to have it spat on. Kinda dashes any  
motivation youve got rattling around in your brain  
But its whatever  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
unrelated but do you think i should cut my pants to just look like this  
  
also yeah man like i get it your familys a bunch of cocksuckers but you owe it to yourself to get out of there  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
If you wanna go for a cheeks out kinda look then go nuts but Im legally obliged to kill you  
I am. Dont worry about that  
Im just gonna do it my way  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
if you arent hunting me for sport you arent my friend  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
Run  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
runs backwards  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
hey look at this  
In his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle presents a form of human flourishing and happiness that includes the  
inculcation of moral virtues: patience, temperance, justice, liberality and magnificence. Both of these last  
virtues are concerned with wealth and its proper virtuous distribution in society. Magnificence or  
magnanimity has as distinct and visible a presence today as it did in Aristotle’s time. With billions of dollars  
spent in philanthropic enterprises around the world, the way in which people understand the value of  
beneficence and generosity has changed dramatically over time. The “skilled artistry” of philanthropy  
involves the just identification of and allocation of goods to social causes. The genesis of philanthropic spirit  
is also representative, in some ways, the genesis of democratic values.  
wait  
n ot that  
  
that  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
A lot just happened in a really small time frame and I dont know what to do about it  
**t h e y ' r e c o n s u m i n g**  
**_THE CRUMBS_**  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
me warning ppl not to fuck with you when you've got that garlic burger from steak n shake in your sights  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Damn right  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
not at all sir  
ok so i finally got the alpaca back home  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thanks Chris youre a real one  
Ok cool but: why  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
he got lost  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
By home do you mean his home or yours  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
he got out of the zoo  
i just kinda walked him back, he liked my cool ranch doritos  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
What the hell  
Youre like Snow White but if Snow White was a scrawny freckly teenager  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
are you saying that because i walked an alpaca home or because i have frederick  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I was saying that because of the alpaca but who or what is Frederick  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
WHAT  
Hello????  
Is that a fucking deer  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya  
frederick  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
.............  
Can you pet it?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
only once  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Im about to  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
be prepared  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
If i die then I die  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
haha dont die glenn needs yr dick  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
anyways i have a crush on someone and i cant think of how to tell them so im asking you first  
would you say yes to this  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
What the hell is going on with her tits? Theyre like five seconds from busting out if she breathes wrong  
Like hell would I say yes  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
didnt consider you to be a body shamer mik  
didnt think you were a slut shamer  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
You can be a whore and wear practical clothing, Chris  
Did you meet someone at one of your weird protests, or something?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
youre missing the point that if im a whore and im in practical clothing people cant fucking tell  
but uh. yea sure  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
People can fucking tell. Whore is a state of mind. Look at Glenn  
For real? Haha  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Damn. Spill the beans  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
but i just got finished putting them in the envelope  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
Mail them to your crush. Theyll love it  
Dont forget to write that its from you at the bottom  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
maybe its better if the envelope is anonymous and blank  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
How else will they know how to respond?  
Who to thank?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i mean i guarantee they wont know how to respond even if a names on it  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Whatever!  
To be honest I just wanted them to beat your ass for it cuz this picture made my anger spike by about 50  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
50 what  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Just 50  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
50 fucking what mik  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
50 nic  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
gimme your fucking juul  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Get your own  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
oh looks like yr a bottom  
and i can just take your juul  
thanks  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thats not how it fucking works  
My juul is too strong for you  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ive smoked chodes that go harder than your juul  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
juul seller  
im going into battle  
i need only your strongest juuls  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
My juuls are too strong for you, traveler  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
juul seller  
i tell you i am going into battle and i want only your strongest juuls  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
You cant handle my juuls  
Theyre too strong for you  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
juul seller... listen to me.  
i want only your strongest juuls  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
My juuls would kill you, traveler  
You cannot handle my juuls  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
**juul seller? enough of these games**  
im going into battle and i need your strongest juuls  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
My strongest juuls would kill you, traveler. You cant HANDLE my strongest juuls  
You better go to a seller that sells weaker juuls  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ok ill ask holst  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thats what I thought  
Does Holst even vape? Or smoke? Ive never seen him do it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
well i dont fucking vape so im clearly joking but i have no idea what he does  
ill smoke cigarettes, ill smoke shisha, ill smoke just about anything but crack but if you catch me vaping i  
want you to take me out  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I want to believe he does something. Theres gotta be a reason hes like that  
Sure, whatever. If I ever see you with a vape pen Ill make sure it explodes, killing you instantly  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
first ask if its a cartridge and then kill me  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
No theres no time to ask questions  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
miklan this is exactly why you got kicked off the force  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I was a dirty cop and they couldnt handle that. Pussies  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
hot  
youre the reason i wanna grow up to be a criminal  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Cool  
Im gonna handcuff you and then vibe check you until you confess  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you sext weird lol  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Fucking christ  
Ok hows this: _Im gonna kill you if you ever say that to me again_  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
im holding you to that  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *


	12. chris its the fricking weekend [P]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 2010, a thirteen year old Ashe won't go to bed.
> 
> Brotherly shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, ashe is rped by my friend sabel! babie ashe's icon is by [this artist](https://loonwho.tumblr.com/post/186614376645/ashe-ubert-pls-be-well)!

  
# get_the_freka_omega  
  


ashe (i can call him christopher)  
dear diory today i lenrd the f word it is fuck  
oh no  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ashe  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Ashe?  
Fuck yes little dude  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ohno  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
no it isent me  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
who is it  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i dident say taht  
its jimothy  
from school  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
oh hey jimothy  
i remember you  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
hi  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
hey jimothy  
im not going to tell on you but it is almost 1 am  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
jimothy  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i am a teen i donr have to slepe oh my go;d chris  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Go sleep. Shoo⠀⠀oough  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
o k i had my laugh pelase go to bed ashe sdfjkldfljsdkfjdsf  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya i will soon i jusr had to right about the fuck word  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
its a fun word but youll get in trouble so keep it a secret  


* * *

Glenn  
I almost forget Chris and Ashe are related.  
He's actually funny and sorta cute. What the fuck happened to you.  
You get passed the ugly genes.  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  
ya i will hey  
chris isent ugly  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
hes adopted glenn  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
also i am adopted  


* * *

Glenn  
Sure as shit cuter than you.  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no shit its called⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀we dont have the same jeans  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Everyone go the hell to bed  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
we dont have the same jeans i have a smaller size  
you go the hell bed  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Im trying  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ashe iogjsdigu8sdig89dsgjdslflksd  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i also cant  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ashe when he goes the f word to bed  
  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
Its confy  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
me later when i am going to bed  
it;s confy  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no thats u right now  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
soon  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
now  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
chris i haev to tell you something  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you dont  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
also ya i am the pineappil  
yes i have to say something  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
yr the pineappil  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no ashe u can say it tomorrow  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
no i have to say i cant sleep becos i had a muffin earlier and i am so awak right now  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
muffins dont make you awake  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya it has shugar  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
sugar doesnt actualy make yo hyperactive  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
wat  
then esplain why i cant sleep  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you cant sleep bc eating muffins makes you happy  
so youre hyper  
sugar has nothing to do with it  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
scientific studies have been done on this  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
is that real  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ye is real now go to bed  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i cant i am too happy  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
go to bed yr 13 not 5  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
chris odmt send me this  
also ya i am 13 not 5 so i can eat a muffin if i want  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
how come you didnt eat the muffins i made  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
it was the muffins you made  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
oh  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
dipshit  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  
that means poop  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
true true  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
chris is a p  
i cannae sa yit  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ashe say it itll be funny  
but also go to bed and dont  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
poop  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  
chris its the fricking weekend  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
get in bed right now i sewear on god  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
its saterday  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
wheres every other preteen wheres hilda and sylvain  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
doing stuff  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
probably not  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
why  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
kids dont do anythig important  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i do importnat things all the time  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
they roleplay on gaiaonline and watch the bionicles movie  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
The bionicles movie is good?  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya its good  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
like it is but its not important  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
its good so its important  
miklan tell him  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
It is  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya see m  
see  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ashe yr so cute im dyin here  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  
if i am cute let me get away with crime  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya my brother committed arson but have you seen his smile its so dope  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
who is arson  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
noneya  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
noneya business  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
cant sleep im too epic  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
not to be epic but im going to kill youw ith this rock  
\- gautier brothers be like  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Shut up  
Im Cain  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
who is that  
like raising cain's  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Cain delivered the first vibe check and Im about to do it again to Chris  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
you cant  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
miklan!!!!!!!!!!!!!! miklan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
execute me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
chris shuddup  
you will not be fricking exeguted  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Ashe hgoly shit  
Vibe check no jutsu  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
vibe check no jutsu  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Hell yeah  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ill sharingan you  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
have you and felix been watching naruto again  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya i do not onderstand it even a little bit  
but they kick stuff and punch it i think its preddy cool  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
has felix kinned sasuke yet  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
what is kinned  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Watch out for that. Hes gonna take over your clan  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ashe go to your room  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya he is teaching me naruto hang signs  
i am in my room  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
get out of your room  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
go to your room now  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya just a sec i am getting oranj juice  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
oranj  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
pulpy  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Oranj  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya  
chris od you want some oranged juice  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
please  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
come to the kitshen  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
mightnit⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀imdignhg  
mdihgtti mdinghiht  
mightnig  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
wat  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
midnight snack  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
chris what you freaking done  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no one ask for any its all mine  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
get out of my house  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh  


* * *

Glenn  
Those are perfectly good cigs and you're ruining them.  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
**im eating them glenn⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀glenn⠀⠀glenn im eating them**  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
jævler  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Making some fucking cigereal at 2am  


* * *

Glenn  
I feel insane.  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
might fuck around and make some cigereal  


* * *

Glenn  
I'm coming to choke you out.  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Let him finish his cigereal first   


* * *

Glenn  
No.  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
And just let him waste the cigs?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i need more cigereal  


* * *


	13. fuck it ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀summon shiva [P]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2010 Christophe and Miklan talk weird conspiracy theories.
> 
> Also, Miklan shares minor concern over the group Christophe hangs with.

  
# get_the_freka_omega  
  


dont call me christopher  
i just found a documentary on the hadron collider and how its going to open a portal to hell, so im gonna be  
half here  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
**?**  
Tell me if theyre renting out the hadron collider I want to send my old man and his toad wife back where  
they came from  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
bending space-time is possible definitely, so whether it would open a portal to another world entirely is up  
to speculation  
my theory is just another universe exactly like this one, only some dumb minor thing is different  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Isnt that just the, fucking, uhh  
Multiverse theory  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
the theory of the 10th dimension yeah  
that all dimensions and all timelines for all the possible universes exist  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thats nuts  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
in any case i think this one yields some results  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Do you think theres a universe where the multiverse doesnt exist  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
that⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀miklan you just made my head hurt  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Paradox at 2am with the boys  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
**dude**  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
**Dude**  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
there is a shiva statue outside the center for the collider, and cern, the name of the center, appear sat the  
front of “cernunnos” – the celtic horned god of the underworld  
they say that the hadron collider is trying to summon the devil or god  
i am eating this up  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thats fucking dope Im not going to lie  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
its really cool even if its not true  
shiva is n ot a benevolent god  
rather, a destroyer  
man just do it and see what happens  
fuck it  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
summon shiva  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Do you ever get exhausted listening to yourself think  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
might fuck around and claim that the higgs boson god particle is a ruse to summon a death god  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Alright  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
hm  
might sleep soon though  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Sleep doesnt sound half bad  
Ive been awake for 50 years  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
got big plans for tomorrow  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Oh christ?  
What are you doing  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
the red liberation's having a protest tomorrow, ive gotta be there  
we're all going to lie down in the middle of a busy city block in protest  
i dont really need sleep if im going to be sleeping on the road but   


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Youre really gonna go out and cause problems on purpose  
LMAO  
Thats great  
Youre still hanging around with those freaks?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you know me ive gotta be problematic at all costs  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I respect that  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
well yeah you gotta⠀⠀⠀⠀start from the ground up with these things  
show that ppl care about these things or nothing will change  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Doesnt change the fact that your pals are a bunch of loons, dude  
Theyre on the news every other week doing some dumb shit. Im surprised you havent been caught  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
are the kids gone  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Looks like it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you know what they say  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
CHRIS  
Christopher.  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
its christophe  
no hard r  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
That was intentional, bottom  
Go keysmash about it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ohuufyyyuuuckkk fhs8dgdsr09w09t40w4y-0-eu05ri0dr60'i50;7u4ui'[i'od'o6dto;  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thats what I thought  


* * *


	14. gone swammin [P]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One winter day, Christophe, Miklan, and Ashe just have the best group chat ever.
> 
> Christophe goes swimming and gets pneumonia.

  
# get_the_freka_omega  
  


Mik's Dick Smasher  
This is you Chris  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
like this?  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thanks! I fucking hate it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
tastes like metal  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Are you anemic  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i will be  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
You WILL be  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
do you like my meme  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I dont want Garfields smug ass telling me what to do  
Sucks for society but Im different. Im immune  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you think youre immune to propaganda  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Yeah  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
What!  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
cringe...  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
cool gonna eat these  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
What the HELL are those  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
shapes  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
?????????????????????????????  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
m  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Im gonna eat a handful of these  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
**now you get it**  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
People are like 'Theyre not edible'   
Weakass. Watch this. Ive been wanting to eat one since kindergarten  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
get that cronch in there  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
might fuck around and melt down those splatty string hands  
drink  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
These?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
whos fucking leg is that  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Dont fucking worry about it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
looks like an arm  
armleg ass  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Youre an armleg ass  
Youre all armleg  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
really?  
am i that thin  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Youre bony as hell dude  
Sometimes when Im in the car with you I worry about opening the window in case you blow out  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
im going to see god  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
On the highway?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
like eventually  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

**Christophe sends a selfie of him in full clothes but also with water wings and an inner tube around**  
**his waist.**  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
gone swammin  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Wghat the fuck  
WHERE  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
pool  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Theres a lot of questions I wanna ask  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you may  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
1) What the hell is wrong with you  
2) Why are you wearing water wings  
3) Do you really think theyll let you in wearing all your clothes  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
its cold out  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
WHICH ONE ARE YOU ANSWERING?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
literally all of them  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
looks really good  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
thanks man you wanna come with  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
no  
its snowing  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
good decision  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
if u get a cold u get a cold  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  
hay miklan  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
Hey small fry  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
are you swamming  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Hell no! Its freezing  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i am  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
k good idea  
chris is ganna get frost bite  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Hes got problems  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
fuck it  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
phone in ziplock baggie  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
are you swamming right now  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya  
its cold  
im never buying an iphone  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
why  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
touchscreen  
cant touch it through a plastic baggie while youre in a lake  
my t mobile sidekick?  
i can  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
you are in a lake?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no a pool  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
oh ok  
i was gonna say  
if u see the loch ness monster tell her i say hay  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ok i will  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
thanx  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
holy shite  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
could never stand a chance  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
This kid was doomed to be owned from the start  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
im this  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Damn  
Sucks to suck  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no ashe youre the snowman  
cause youre so cool  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
oh sorry i was playing final fantasy  
thank you  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
**i have pneumonia**  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
Dipshit. We warned you!  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
His fingers are gonna fall off   


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya  
amazing that pneumonia did that and not the lawnmower  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Oh shit I almost forgot about that  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
**i havent**  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
My old man still hasnt found the lawnmower  
I threw it down the bottom of the yard   


* * *

dont call me christopher  
idiot fucker  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Where ELSE was I meant to put it  
It was clogged with paper and pudding  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ehat  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i meant your dad god  
i see where you get the idiot fucker from  
this is why he calls you idiot fucker  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
what happened with your lawn mower  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Shut up.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Shut up. Im not owned  
We threw crap into it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
so owned  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
you thrwe poop into the lawn mower  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
he did  
hes a freak  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
.  
Not LITERAL shit  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
like what then just stuff  
like jelly beans  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Uhh  
Yeah, sure  
Food. Paper. Clothes  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
dont listen to him  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Chris shut up or Ill throw you in there next time until youre linguine on my lawn  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
like ratatootie  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
I think his name is Rummy  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
its dobbo  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
its remy  
linguini is the guy  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  
Thats too much  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
miklan its ok its just a movie  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
its stuart little  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
who the f*ck is dobbo  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
You dont get it kid this shit is stressful as hell I think about Dobbo every damn day of my life STOP IT  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
who is he  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
The guy in Lord of the Rings  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
miklan no offense but what the fuck you just said to me  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Full offense but I said fuckin Dobbo  
Something like that  
Dobno  
Dobny  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
are you thinking about dobby from harry potter  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Im at my fucking limit  
NO  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
smeagol  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Thats a pokemon?  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
no that is smeargle  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Wghat  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
thos is smeagol/gollum  
  
lord of the rangs  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
What in the fresh hell  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
is he your dobbo  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Sylvain looked like that when he was born  
What? No  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
shut up bro  
ok who is dobbo  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
You shut up. No more questions  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you two are cute  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
thanks  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ashe is the cuter one  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i know  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Im not cute Im angy  
*Angry. Fuck  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
no one talk with him hes angy  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
the⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀angy  
dont tuch him⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he angy  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
miklan  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
STOP⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I like that  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
hahahahaha  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya thats you  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
yes  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Me too  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i dont  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Just wanna sit in my truck. Grill a little. Is that too much to ask  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i dont own a motor vehicle theyre destroying the planet  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
OK  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
my reluctance to learn to drive is a purposeful choice  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Are you sure its not cuz you suck at driving  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
might fuck around and get my license just to run you over  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
Do it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
the day i get a car is the day i really end you  
  
you will have driven me to destroy you along with the environment  


* * *

Mik's Dick Smasher  
The day you get your license is the day Ill be entering a retirement home  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
im going to be biking in my 30s just you wait  


* * *


	15. cross my heart [P]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe tells Ashe how to make homemade egg nog. He ends up not keeping his promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ashe is rped by my good pal sabel!

  
# get_the_freka_omega  
  


ashe (i can call him christopher)  
knock knock  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
jesus fcking christ ashe  
its 3 am  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i dont care  
i said knockn knock  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
whos there  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
oranj  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
oranj who  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
oranj you gonna let me in  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
  
its a saterday so sure  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya its saterday  
chris i think im having a probleml  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no way  
what is it  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i think igot a cold  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no way bud  
maybe you shouldnt be up then  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i couldint sleep  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
nooooo  
dad give you anything for it?  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya  
i got some cough medisin  
and hot chocolate   


* * *

dont call me christopher  
o fuck  
tastey  
you know we got egg nog in the fridge  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
can i have it  
some of it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm  
not if you want all of it  
u kno i wait all year for the shit  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
no i dont need the whole thing i jusd want to try it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ok well  
drink from the jug not the carton  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
i am ganna pour a glass how about that  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
thats fine just pour from the jug not the carton  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
wats the differents  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
one of them i homemade  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
is the jug homemade  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
no  
the jug is storebought  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
oh ok  
i will  
also how do you make egg nog  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
recipes long  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
tell me aboudit  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
granulated sugar  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok  
go on  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
milk  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok what else  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
egg yolks  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
heavy whipping cream  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok cool  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
wait  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
wat  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
salt  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
really?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
how much  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
pinch  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
jus a pinch  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ya  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok that sounds fine  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
vanilla extract  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ground nutmeg  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
aright  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
ground⠀⠀⠀cinnamon  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok ....  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
thats it  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok  
i wil lremember that  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you wont  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya i will  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you wont  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
how do u know  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you wrote it down or something  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
no i will remember it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
dont think so  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
talk to me next chrismas ill still remember it  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
next christmas if you remember all the ingredients  
cross my heart ill make it for you  
and ill do it right i wont put shit in it  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ok promise  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
promise   


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
  
cool  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
love u lil guy  
feeling any better?  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
love u too  
ya i feel better  
i;m sleepy  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
go bed  
  


* * *

ashe (i can call him christopher)  
ya i think iwill  
goodnite chris  
  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
nite ashe  


* * *


	16. famous last words [P]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In November of 2010, Christophe has one last conversation with Cassandra, his best friend before he disappears.
> 
> She's not able to coax him out of a bad decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cassandra (past catherine!) is played by my good friend tracey! the icon is by [this artist](https://teir3s.tumblr.com/post/188409130341/the-super-messy-grad-school-cathmir-au-no-one)!

  
@ Cassandra  
  


dont call me christopher  
so i know i havent answered any dms lately but i have to talk  


* * *

The Cassassin  
you know everyone's been asking me where you've been  
and they're all thinking  
well if cassandra can't get ahold of him then it must be bad  
and i'm just sitting here like i fucking wish i knew  
so alright  
talk  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
im a ghost alright we know this already  
im just anxious about some stuff ok  
i dont know if you heard about what the governor was on about but we're a hate group now  
not exactly my choice of words either  


* * *

The Cassassin  
i've overheard some things  
people are talking chris  
if you guys keep pulling the shit you've been doing  
what else are people supposed to think  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i guess  
i know  
you know me though  


* * *

The Cassassin  
yeah  
i know the weedy kid christophe gaspard who followed me around everywhere and wanted to make some  
positive change  
do you know yourself chris?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
cassie what kind of question is that  
you make it sound like i changed  


* * *

The Cassassin  
see the thing is  
i don't know if you have or not  
because you're never fucking around anymore  
you're too busy being pushed around by them  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
cassie i have something else to talk about  


* * *

**He really can't defend himself or them so he won't.**  


* * *

The Cassassin  
right because you never listened to the shit i've said anyways  
fine  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
there's something going on tomorrow  


* * *

The Cassassin  
what is it this time  
another little demonstration thats gonna end in teargas and bloody noses?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
how pissed are you at me that you cant let me speak without bringing up things that happen when cops get  
violent  
like we can control the bleeding of our own noses cass  


* * *

The Cassassin  
i don't know how many times to tell you that you got violent first  
this isn't some positive civil rights group thats going to go down in the history books  
maybe it was at first  
but it sure as hell isn't anymore  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
we've had this argument before it doesn't matter  
im worried about tomorrow  
they said i have to be there  
im not saying much to anybody because the last thing i want is ppls pity and bullshit  
they said ill be caught if i dont  


* * *

The Cassassin  
i have been fucking worried for months  
don't fucking go  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
what do i do if i dont  


* * *

The Cassassin  
leave them and don't look back  
your dad is a fucking politician there's resources to protect you if that's what you're worried about  
i left chris  
i wish you followed me  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
i dont want jail time cass ive already pissed off my old man with this dumb shit  
i know that what we're about doesnt suit you anymore and thats fine  
i think im just scared that i dont have what it takes to do this but youve got me all wrong if you think i enjoy  
that thought  
that i think its convenient  


* * *

The Cassassin  
i don't know what to tell you chris  
i gave you the best option  
if you don't take it then i don't know what else to do for you  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you can fucking soothe my thoughts or something, something other than just telling me go, go, go, leave,  
leave, maybe promise me that if i don't go i won't be imprisoned  
god its like a broken record  


* * *

The Cassassin  
i can't make that promise i don't have that power  
but maybe jail time won't be as bad as whatever the fuck they're putting you through  
people aren't telling you these things for some sort of self satisfaction  
it's because we care  
sounds fucking dumb i know  
but we do  
you know sometimes your dad calls me when you stay too late at night at these shitty meetings  
i have to lie to him, say you're hanging out with me  
you know ashe has called me once asking where you were?  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
stop  
its lonely work  
okay it happens  
i never asked you to lie for me and i fucking  
don't need my brother to know any about this  
im not being 'put through' anything that i didnt bring upon myself with my big mouth  


* * *

**Christophe realizes he doesn't know what this conversation is meant to accomplish when he**  
**refuses to tell the whole truth, when he really doesn't want to be convinced out of it so much as he**  
**wants to know that he can do it, that he can make a difference. If the options are end up in a history**  
**book one day or rot in jail...**  


* * *

never mind  


* * *

The Cassassin  
fine  
keep telling yourself that chris  
i don't know what else i can do for you  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
nothing apparently  
thats fine  


* * *

The Cassassin  
don't let me see you on the news for the wrong reasons  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
you let me worry about that.  
...  
but,  
can i ask just one favor just one thing dont bitch at me  


* * *

The Cassassin  
what  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
this time i am asking you to lie for me  
tell my dad im with you if he asks  
im staying the night at a hotel. i have to see them early tomorrow to get everything set up.  
he's asleep now but if i try to leave in the morning he'll give me lip  


* * *

The Cassassin  
i can't keep covering your ass chris  
don't fuck this up  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
its the last time ill ever ask  
i promise  


* * *

The Cassassin  
whatever  


* * *

dont call me christopher  
thank you cass  


* * *


	17. TIMESINK [P]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before Christophe Gaspard's death in 2010, he has a god awful conversation with his crush, Miklan Gautier.
> 
> It doesn't go well. He says things he can't take back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chris, despite having an outrageous crush on miklan for ages, has never done or said anything to imply his feelings or any bitterness toward glenn. he's not that type of person.
> 
> a little bit leaks out here. years later, he's completely forgotten that he's said it.

  
# get_the_freka_omega  
  


christophe  
hey mik i have a question  


* * *

Mik  
What?  


* * *

christophe  
do i seem different lately  


* * *

Mik  
Pretty random thing to ask  
Dunno. It feels like it, sometimes  


* * *

christophe  
just somethin someone told me that im thinking about  


* * *

Mik  
Didnt realize you thought about anything anyone told you unless it came from your new cronies  


* * *

christophe  
i do  
i do, is there something you have to say?  


* * *

Mik  
Like what? What is there to say that all of us havent said a billion times already?  


* * *

christophe  
does that mean i am different?  


* * *

Mik  
What do you even want me to tell you  
Yeah. You are  
Sometimes it feels like theres two of you  
The Chris we knew and then this new idiot with something to prove  
Its not like youre even here half of the time  
Disappearing for weeks. Showing up with a broken arm, or whatever the fuck this time. Thats not you  
Or maybe it is  
Who knows  


* * *

christophe  
i'm not sure  


* * *

Mik  
Maybe you ought to figure it out  
Before you do something you regret  


* * *

christophe  
i don't like the idea of living two different lives  
im the same chris with you, as i am with them  


* * *

Mik  
I fucking wish you were as elusive with them as you are with us  
Youll drop everything to respond to them  
There are times we dont hear from you for weeks  
Thats not the same  
You dont like it because you know its damn well true  


* * *

christophe  
man fuck you have your timesink and ive got mine  


* * *

Mik  
Dont you fucking _dare_  
Compare me hanging out with Glenn to circlejerking with your group of self righteous pricks  
My timesinks know how to fucking treat me right  
_My_ timesinks dont put me in the hospital  


* * *

christophe  
that wasnt what i meant  
that wasnt what i said  


* * *

Mik  
Whatd you mean, then? Huh?  
You fucking know what you meant  


* * *

christophe  
we all have things that we do we all have hobbies and shit alright but go off  


* * *

Mik  
Whatever  


* * *

christophe  
"whatever"  
because a good gotcha in an argument is how your friend was hospitalized  
like its fine it wasnt even bad but really  


* * *

Mik  
"It wasnt even that bad"  
God you are legitimately infuriating  
Youre so far up their asses its unreal  
They really could just do anything to you and youd sit there and justify it until the end of the world  


* * *

christophe  
maybe because we're trying to do something mik  
look i was stupid  
i was stupid to ask them any questions and i was stupid to ask any in here tonight  
we can just forget about this whole conversation since it's gone on like this  


* * *

Mik  
You wanna forget the conversation because I told you something you didnt wanna hear, you mean  


* * *

christophe  
no thats not it  
i asked  
i asked and you spoke thats how it went and now its done because you dont have anything else to say to  
me  


* * *

Mik  
Oh my god  
Yeah, alright. Sure I dont  


* * *

christophe  
miklan just  
can you stop being mad at me im done  


* * *

Mik  
Me too  


* * *

christophe  
what?  


* * *

Mik  
Me too. Im done. Dont worry about it  
Not even sure why I bothered  


* * *

christophe  
mik please  


* * *

Mik  
_What_ , Chris?  


* * *

christophe  
i didnt mean for the conversation to go this way, i dont want this to be  
i dont want to go to bed angry at you, or you angry at me  


* * *

Mik  
Just go to bed. Youve got a 'busy day' tomorrow  


* * *

christophe  
yes i do and id like it if _today_ ended on a happy note  
youre my friend and i love you  


* * *

Mik  
Youre my friend and I care about you and thats why Im fucking _angry_ , Chris  
Goodnight.  


* * *

christophe  
...  


* * *

**Christophe holds his breath, seeing that his 'I love you' does not go reciprocated. He feels hated.**  
**Good.**  


* * *

im sorry  


* * *

**_christophe has left the group chat._**  


* * *


	18. Ruined Sky [P]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years after Christophe Gaspard is declared dead, Christophe has lived a very sheltered life inside of motels and homeless shelters, taking on the occasional odd under the table job to keep himself afloat, in constant paranoia that he'll be discovered.
> 
> One day, it becomes too much and he reaches out to Miklan. This comes three years also after Glenn has died, and after Miklan's received that gruesome scar that takes up half his face now.
> 
> They meet at Miklan's bar, Ruined Sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter marks the end of the flashback/past parts, after this is full speed ahead back to the present!

Staked the place out. Night after night. It can be tonight, he thinks. It can be so easy, like a rubber band against the skin, a band-aid rip, a shot of whiskey, a shot of something much more vile. There’s no chaser for this kind of thing. There’s no parachute. It’s a cliff’s edge and Christophe has known this for as long as he’s known of it’s existence: Ruined Sky.

What a name, he thought at first. Christophe ran it and several numbers over and over again in his head for weeks. When it opens, when it closes. When it starts to get dark, who comes and who leaves. How long does it take him to finish up inside. Who sticks around to help, who locks up at night… him. For weeks Christophe kept to the darker sides of the alley to spy.

Three more years of, _I’ll do it tomorrow_ could kill him. As much as Christophe despises everything he is, he finds himself feeling a bit selfish. He wants to live.

That’s why he stumbles in, his grey-green eyes, sunken and dry searching for _him_. Heaven forbid he should see Christophe first. Christophe always has to be seen last. The sign’s been flipped to _‘closed’_ but… the door’s left unlocked. No one else has the nerve to enter anyways, ‘cept him. ‘Cept Christophe who takes in the sight of his back, busy behind he counter with… something.

Even in all of his spying, he’s never gotten a good look at him. Now is no exception. Did he get… taller? Not taller than Chris of course but—

Christophe doesn’t say a word. Probably the worst thing of him to do, just enter quiet, like the grave, speak not a sound and hope to be noticed. It’s as though he doesn’t want to upset the balance, the air of this place, the good vibrations his friend has created all his own, far away from anyone and anything they once knew.

It’s as though he’s still in denial of how this is going to go, whether he bothers to speak his name in reverence or not.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened today to suggest that something borderline world shattering was about to occur.

It’d been a busy night that kept him well on his toes - standard for a bar so relatively new, full of people scoping out the land and mentally deliberating if the kicks and unconventional buzz of the underground would be worth visiting a second time. The smell of alcohol and heavy bassline are sensations Miklan got used to shockingly fast, finding them a welcome replacement to radio silence and the odd thrill of petty crime. Even now there’s music playing, albeit turned low, nothing more than a hum behind the bar as Miklan checks the register, mops the counter top, cleans and puts away discarded glasses. It’s easy work. Work that could be completed on autopilot without much thought.

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t hear the footsteps, at first. For all the response they evoke from Miklan they could have very well belonged to a phantom. The comparison is an oddly fitting one to make.

But even spirits want to be known, visiting at unpredictable times and places in hopes that someone, somewhere, will see. He can tell there’s somebody hovering behind him, casting an ominous shadow beneath low lights. Miklan doesn’t turn around when he says, unfazed, “Can you read, or what? We’re closed.” 

Except the figure doesn’t budge, and it sets off a sense of dread that he can’t quite place. He’s quick to find out why when he turns to find himself looking into the eyes of a dead man. His expression falls instantaneously.

Even after all these years it’s still so distinctly Christophe. Tired, rough around the edges, yes - but him all the same. Living. Breathing. In one piece. Not floating face down in the harbor, faceless among countless others atop a sea of red. There’s a cocktail of different emotions bubbling inside of him right now that collectively manifest into nausea, mouth dry and face pale, harrowed. He thinks this is a joke. He thinks this is a punishment, a hallucination of another friend Miklan had lost too young. For a long time, he saw Glenn everywhere; in public, at home, lingering silently in crowds, windows, mirrors, as though aiming to serve as a reminder. _You did this. You did this._

Except even those apparitions had ceased, vanishing just as quickly as the real thing, no goodbyes or shaky final breaths this time. So why here, again? Why now? Why _Christophe?_

He doesn’t want to speak. He can’t speak. What to say to a man who had faded once and may very well again?

Oh, his voice sounds… Christophe doesn’t know why the roughness of his voice, the indifference is so startling to him before he’s even turned to acknowledge him. Even now, Christophe’s afraid to _think_ the letters of his name, afraid of his own existence, of his own breathing. So hard does he try to muffle it, swallow it down, not let his chest expand an inch until he’s face to face with his friend, and then just as _his_ face wipes clean into something horrifying, so too does Christophe’s.

Any eerie, _ghostly_ affectation Christophe may have given off by his stilted, longing countenance is dashed by the sheer warp of pain, _human_ pain, _living_ pain that crosses his face at the sight of him, so much so that his hands are drawn up like magnets to his teeth, defending his mouth, his words, the ones that he isn’t even sure he can let drop out of him now.

_What happened to you_ , is the loudest thought in his head, and yet all he can spit out is a frightful, “ _Mik?_ ”

His voice is high and scratched—the noise scraped out of his throat like tin against metal. Christophe considers disappearing. Christophe considers pulling the second worst disappearing act but finds himself rooted in place, as though this reality has become his own sleep paralysis demon. The gash mocks Chris with it’s existence and Chris for already looking so washed up and unwell, goes pallid and grey. Deeply unsettled. _He wasn’t there for this. He doesn’t know what it means._ Maybe if Christophe had been in a better head space he could put two and two together. He could remember that accident years ago. He could think to himself that this should make a modicum of sense.

Instead, he breathes rough into his beat up fingers, raddled. He hasn’t slept in days. There’s a few more band-aids, patches, healing over scars creeping up from his shirt, padded against his throat, sleeping across a knot on his nose and in the flesh of his cheek. Christophe has never looked more deceased, like a walking wound on two legs and yet his gaping green eyes, coke bottle wide, have never been more electric.

And terrified.

“Miklan, it’s…” _He knows who it is, Chris._

The figure speaks his name, not once but twice, and the sound that leaves him involuntarily is terrified and strangled like an already wounded animal caught in a trap. Apparitions don’t address you with raw, frightened clarity. Apparitions don’t react to your presence so humanly and in a way that suggests they’re taking you in for the first time just as much as you’re trying to perceive them back. The battered Christophe before him should have vanished wordlessly, leaving nothing more than a judgmental gaze and heaviness in his wake to be played on the mind for days to come.

And yet he’s still here.

Miklan is trembling visibly now with his fists clenched at his side and mouth twisted into a near snarl, teetering on the edge of hysteria with every second that Christophe stares at him with barely disguised fright. _How fucking dare you_ , is the thought that plays on his head in repeat. _Look at me like I’m in the wrong_. Even amidst the burning panic and steadily bubbling anger, Miklan knows what Christophe is staring at. He would have known about it if he were there. It’s the first thing Miklan sees in the morning, the only thing that people pay attention to when they address him, the eyesore of the century that carries more emotional hurt than physical no matter how many years have passed since its appearance. The gash across his face is still as prominent as it was when the stitches were fresh, when the blood seeping from it that night stained his teeth and soaked his front and hands. He looked like a murder victim, yet felt every bit the murderer.

Christophe goes to introduce himself and Miklan wants to scream. As if he could forget who it is, as if it isn’t painfully obvious to the both of them what the implications of this all are. The man isn’t dead, that much is clear - and how does he feel about it? Relieved? Betrayed? Sick? Sick is right, he thinks. “No…” No, no, no, no, no. He’s shaking his head, slowly at first, quickening with every uttered denial that leaves his lips. There are so many questions playing on his mind, new ones appearing before old ones can be addressed or dismissed, but all that prevails is the desperate need to return to normality. He looks like he wants to run, except he’s caged behind the bar and Christophe’s presence alone is holding him hostage. 

“Get out.” It’s barely more than a whisper. He means it.

Except he doesn’t. Not really.

The sound Miklan makes is horrific and so Christophe doesn’t speak. Christophe bites his torn lips and Christophe has never felt more sorry in his poor little life to be alive and well. Well, not well, but alive. Alive and _mistaken_. All that had happened three years ago was a mistake, an improper report, a lie to the people. The longer this charade goes on, the more Christophe gets it wrong—thinks the error comes in the form of his survival. His life should’ve ended that afternoon on the dock of their choosing.

Instead, he’s causing accidents like this and hurting people again, you know, that thing Christophe told himself he was done doing. Turns out, he’s tired of being alone and it dawns on him for the millionth time that you can never have one without the other, company without suffering, and this is good a lecture as any.

It’s not so bad until Miklan is shaking his head and then Christophe’s heart dips into his stomach, and then Christophe’s legs threaten to give out. _Get out_. Did he hear that right? **_Get out._** And his teeth chatter in his skull.

_No_ , he thinks against the machine in his head. _I finally did it. I can’t go._ Christophe clings to his clothes, pulls at himself, keeps his body off the ground with his bare hands if he has to. _It hurts, I’m so sorry._ His breath is ragged but, _I don’t want to do this anymore._ It fucking guts, it fucking sucks but, _don’t hate me, please don’t turn me away._

If only any of these things could leave his mouth. Christophe can just say, “Mik,” just a snapshot of his name, held hostage in his throat until the rest of his words come. “Mik, M- _Mik, please_ , could you listen to me?” he croaks, voice turning frantic with knowing, with _knowing_ that he won’t, just seeing how many words he can jam inside, fit between this second in time and when Miklan will shut him up for good.

“Mik, _I need help_ ,” and tears get to staining the sides of his eyes, and the words taste vile on his tongue, like his existence is a breathing, living guilt trip. Maybe for all intents and purposes, it is.

Christophe takes one step toward the bar. “I’m sorry, Mik, I’m so fucking sorry, just—” _Don’t scream._

_Don’t tell me to leave, cause I can’t walk on broken glass anymore._

“Y— You’re fucking _sorry?_ ” It’s the first thing Miklan can get out between shallow breaths and stunned staring, the tone of his voice rumbling, trembling, almost dangerous. “All these years dead, and you’re SORRY?” He doesn’t want to hear it. Frankly, he doesn’t know what he wants. Explanations and apologies seem moot considering the magnitude of the situation, because what does one say in response to an act of shoddy modern day necromancy. This doesn’t feel like a miracle; it feels like a nightmare, one built upon hurt and deceit. 

Christophe steps closer and Miklan visibly recoils, backing up until the counter nudges him from behind. He grips it like a lifeline, focus never once leaving the other. Anguish is written across Christophe’s face, plain as day, but Miklan can’t yet bring himself to extend sympathy. His presence as a greater whole is painful and difficult to take in, leaving nothing to be spared for finer details, the way that he shakes and the tears that spill down freckled cheeks. A nasty thought flashes through his mind: _Good._

Does Christophe know how many people have mourned him? How many people have cried for a son, a brother, a friend? Miklan remembers his funeral, the wave of sheer agony that had rolled over the room that day despite there being so few in attendance. There was no casket, no ashes - just a projector with photographs and videos, flowers, so many flowers, because what else were they to do without a body to direct their collective grief onto. He remembers offering Lonato and the boys condolences despite feeling out of place. At his own son’s memorial service, the man still had enough kindness in him to thank him for coming because _It means so much._

Not anymore. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Don’t.” _Don’t come closer. Don’t go, actually._ “What…” Miklan is fumbling behind him, eyes wide. He has a glass in his hand before he knows what he’s doing and, “could you possibly need help with?!” It’s aimed haphazardly at Christophe. It misses, of course it does, hand eye coordination wavered by grief and anxiety and some subconscious aversion to causing him hurt. It smashes pathetically some distance away and Miklan almost heaves.

Grief flashes through Christophe—the mourning he’s been busy doing for every corner of his life, destroyed. Family, friends, a good support system, doctors, therapists, the fucking barber he went to his whole life, every teacher he was friends with, every protester he met, all of their causes and his own fucking signature: up in flames scalding enough to burn his fingertips upon. For as much as every person around him had learned to carry on without him, Christophe had to find out how to live a life without all of them. As much as he broke down, too thin shambling limbs resembling something of a bundle of sticks on a bed spread, an aching bonfire of burning hurt the night they reported on Glenn’s death, Christophe’s discovered how to mourn the living. It isn’t fun to know they’re so close and yet…

Miklan backs away from him, like he doesn’t want to know. Like he’d prefer him dead. Christophe has to agree. Christophe can’t say how many times he’s thought of it, thought of giving everything up because a life in loneliness, a life in a lie is unbearably long. What keeps Christophe from letting it all go is the knowing that he’s never wanted that, that he’s been counting every day on reaching out, coming home, righting this wrong. It was never supposed to be this way.

Three months was never meant to become three years. Whatever love his loved ones had for him… was never meant to fortune into hate. What a magic trick, then, Christophe thinks, the moment Miklan’s got a glass in his fist.

_I’ve already run out of time._

The glass splatters against the wall and Christophe wishes with everything in him that it hasn’t. Wishes that maybe if Miklan had been allowed by the universe to pelt him like that, that maybe he’d find the sympathy somewhere in him. It’d make him feel good. Chris is deluded if he thinks _any_ response is going to make Miklan comforted, let alone feel _good_. But, Christophe knows what this all means now. Days spent thinking, _I’ll go tomorrow, I’ll go out tomorrow_. Weeks planning visits and chickening out, fearing the worst, fearing _this_ , the way Miklan moves with such disgust, such hatred for his revival—such betrayal and hurt… he doesn’t know. He can’t know how terrible every day has been. Just as Christophe could never know in return just how many grieved his smile, his silly kindness, his bony hugs.

_But I ran out of time_ , he thinks with a terrifying finality, and those instincts that tell him to run kick in full swing. _Go. He doesn’t want you. No one does. You’re too fucking late_. Voices are cruel. Christophe freezes, his face melting into a puddle in his palms. And he can’t run.

_I want you to love me again_. Christophe can’t make himself leave. Sobbing silent until he can no longer stand, until those voices screaming to _run_ are all he can hear, Chris makes himself acquainted with rock bottom. Squatting to the floor with his arms up over his head, he pleads like a child, “don’t make me leave, _please_ , don’t make me go.” A thousand sorry’s pour out of his throat, more a mantra than any thought out, practiced apology could ever be.

It’s spat out like his life’s motto, three years running, into his kneecaps.

Just as the glass shatters, so too does something inside of Miklan. All that steadily boiling anger and confusion and upset hits a breaking point the moment Christophe is on the floor, sobbing so painfully between desperate pleas not to be let go. There’s something horrible about being put on the spot the way he is, as if Christophe’s revival presently hinges on Miklan and Miklan alone. He could turn him away, sure - but that would be no better than sending him to die a second time, denying his existence in favor of… what? Wherever Christophe has been these last three years, he supposes. Living like background static. A shell of the boy he was, bright eyed and eager to make a change. A ghost. 

It goes without saying that Miklan never wanted Christophe to disappear to begin with. Christophe had been a familiar presence in his life since they were both knee high, small and ready to take on the world. So for all his hurt, for all the frustration, he doesn’t think he can send him away again. 

But, God, does it hurt. That much is to be expected, except in the moment it’s almost unbearable and all the more for a man so used to denying himself the right to emote. He remains pressed to the bar for a long while, expression creased and chest heaving as he stares at the wall where the glass had struck. He can’t see Christophe from there, but he can hear him with uncomfortable clarity; every sniffle, every whimper, every string of _I’m sorry_ and _Please don’t make me leave_ that drives more nails into his already rattled and fragile heart.

Despite the nasty, bitter voice screaming at him to repeat the earlier sentiment of _Get out_ … he can’t do it. Even back then, he hadn’t meant it. It was a reflex spat out to protect himself, stemming from that ever present and overwhelming desire to isolate and face away from problems in hopes that they’ll dissipate of their own accord without having to address them directly. _If you’re alone, it won’t hurt. If they leave, they can’t hurt you. Don’t forget it._

Cautiously, he’s moving away from the edge to peer over the counter and down at the other. It’s a pitiful sight that he derives no particular satisfaction from, all the more so with shards of glass that fan around him dangerously. Guilt floods his chest for reacting so violently, in the way that no doubt people would expect him to. Ugh. Miklan wordlessly steps out, approaching Christophe with all the reluctance of someone avoiding a spill. So many potential courses of action flood his mind, making him unsteady on his feet as he surveys him from up close. He wants to be sick again.

Before he has time to second guess his own resolve, he’s sinking into a crouch, borderline slumping on top of Christophe in an overwhelmed and protective exhaustion. It’s pained when he says, “ _Where the fuck have you been?_ ”

_Don’t._

Don’t reach out for him. Maybe one day you’ll have earned that honor, the allowance and the right to reach out, to be held in the burnt, trembling fingers and to be told it’s okay to breathe. Up until Miklan rounds the counter to see him, to take in his shoddy shivering and downtrodden form, the pathetic mess of a thing he’d become in just three years time, Christophe’s a broken record of words that mesh and mingle, that become mush in his mouth until they don’t hold any meaning anymore. Even if Christophe had the proper language to express everything he felt, he can’t think that Miklan would listen, that Miklan would feel anything but rage and repugnance.

And Chris doesn’t think he deserves anything less than that, anything more than a glass and a rejection. His life’s been a mad series of rejections, doors in the face, sometimes with his leg still hanging outside of the frame. Even if Miklan were to toss him out, gather him up by the back of his parka, like ridding yourself of a cat on your door step, yanking him by the scruff of his neck and throwing him into the street, Christophe doesn’t think he could make himself leave. He’s spent too much time running away. The “ _run away_ ” gene in him has frozen up. If anyone else leaves his life, it’ll be because they couldn’t take him back. Not because he couldn’t return.

This is what he tells himself to get through it all: _if I end up alone, it isn’t because I never tried._ And bitterly, he thinks, _only tried a little too late._

Miklan stepping toward him drives little tremors out of him with each step, like preparing for a slap, for damage. Christophe has done so much _fucking damage_ it’s what he deserves. It’s what Miklan is capable of but it’s what he’s never done. No matter how much people have tried to paint him the villain, Christophe doesn’t think him to be the hurtful kind. Any shivering is because Christophe thinks himself to be the deserving, the guilty, the kind of disease you have to bleed out.

A body curls itself over top of him and Christophe quakes. Does not reach out. _Don’t_ , he thinks again. Don’t think yourself worthy. And he says, “I don’t know,” as if the question were philosophical and not literal. But in truth, Christophe’s been so many places, so many motels and so many locations, never outside of Fodlan but far enough to have maintained this horrible, ugly equilibrium.

“Lost,” he cries with the sort of voice reserved for funerals—for once aching with the same kind of misery his family and friends have long since expressed. “Lost, lost, lost, _lost_ —” Christophe bawls, unable to speak, unable to think. His thoughts come in fragments, each one as scattered as the last.

“ _I fucked up_.”

_I fucked up_ feels like the understatement of the century, though Miklan is inclined to agree that there’s no better way to put it in the moment between the tangled web of emotion and lies. 

Christophe isn’t thinking straight, that much he can tell. He sounds like a broken record, words punctuated by anguished wails and the way that his body seems to shake more and more with everything that leaves his lips. He doesn’t say as much, but that scares Miklan - the sense of _vagueness_ that oozes from Christophe, all the confidence and lackadaisical spirit of his younger self burnt out, gone. It’s only been three years, but that’s three years too many for him, for them both. He can’t imagine what Christophe has been through both mentally and physically, band-aids and bandages covering so much of his skin it almost seems to be threatening to swallow him whole.

Miklan is not a comforting man by any means, nor has he ever been one to know what to do during times like these. The most he can do is hold him in a bizarre contrast to the repulsed, defensive movements from earlier. Despite the initial lapse in judgement as the glass was thrown, Miklan doesn’t want to hurt a man who is already so clearly scraping rock bottom in every conceivable way. He gets the distinct impression that neither are going to be budging for awhile, so he’s careful when he moves to sit down fully as opposed to crouching on the balls of his feet, taking Christophe with him. The floor is dusty and littered with scuff marks of those dancing and conversing in a world so far away from their current position, but it’s better than sitting atop the glass only inches away. Oh, to have the luxury of being carefree and wild.

Don’t say anything to freak him out. Don’t insult him. That seems simple enough, and yet there’s so much that desires to be said. He wants to call Christophe every name under the sun and then some, wants him to know just how hurt and pissed he is (and countless others, too). But now isn’t the time. Miklan has some tact, if nothing else. “Christophe— Chris. Come on.” He sounds uncertain. The name hasn’t left his mouth in years, much less to address the man in question. This is all so surreal. “I’m not gonna kick you out. Okay? I’m-” There’s a vague noise, as if searching for answers that aren’t going to come. “You’re fine here. Please.” _You don’t have to be lost anymore._

Spitting up agony and distress into the floor, into the rips in his jeans and into thick, ugly air, Christophe can’t find it in himself to rejoice in these arms coiling around him. There’s too much fright and raw uncertainty. Fear is truthfully the mind killer, and Chris is never more aware of it than now. In spite of how little Miklan is versed in these sorts of behaviors, in how to comfort, in how to be gentle, Christophe knows there’s a kindness in him that can’t be smothered. In every hug they shared as children, in every stolen piece of snack food Miklan nicked from the corner store, shoved into Christophe’s pockets like a secret, in every cocky grin… there was beauty and repose of the most uncanny sort.

Even with a searing laceration, dug into the flesh of his face, marking him ruined, set apart, defective to some, something no one would want… Christophe could never be afraid. Christophe could never not want him. He can’t bring himself to ask. He can’t demand such information from him when he’s unable to open up his mouth any further. His jaw feels wired shut. His joints, gear locked into place, stiff. Christophe lets Miklan handle him, and it’s only then as Miklan moves to plop down on his ass that Christophe slides with him, melting into his lap.

And still, like a puppet with the strings cut, Christophe does not cling or grab, merely goes slack in his grasp like a body in water, the body he should’ve been. Christophe lays languid, cadaverous in Miklan’s arms. It hurts so fucking much, but there’s a catharsis in all of this. _Mik knows I’m alive. Someone know I’m alive. Someone knows me…_

And really, he’s not fine but there’s something promising in the way Miklan says it, in spite of the awkward cadence in his voice, like he’s unable to sustain the anger he’s wracked with. Christophe sniffles and croaks like something with a hole in its throat, “I can… explain.” In between huffs that die on the edge of hyperventilation, Christophe fails to speak and he shivers in Miklan’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, the thousandth time, the millionth, the _umpteenth_. “I mean it,” he whimpers, his voice coming so close to neutrality until it cracks once again. “I didn’t… know.”

Christophe shudders in a breath. “I didn’t know… how… to come home.”


	19. you'll let me show you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Christophe's shoddy attempt at connecting with his brother, and after Miklan's second conversation with his own, Christophe and Miklan talk about the weirdness of marriage, talk about loneliness, and sext. Feelings for one another come out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as the summary implies, there's minor sexual content in this chat, but mostly just a confession of feelings.

  
@ Miklan  
  


christopholes  
ran out of bowls  


* * *

Miklan  
???  


* * *

christopholes  
froot loops boys make do  
/>  


* * *

Miklan  
I hate you. Every single fucking day you salt my crops and ruin me. You specifically continue to cook bullshit  
when I tell you not to. You spread chaos and discord across my damn direct messages and decimate  
perfectly good food in the same breath. Youre a motherfucker.  


* * *

christopholes  
**you eat green bell fucking peppers mik?**  


* * *

Miklan  
**When was the last time you ate a vegetable in general?**  


* * *

christopholes  
right now  


* * *

Miklan  
Unlock your fucking motel door I just want to talk.  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont wanna talk im eating froot loop stuffed green bell pepper  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh my god! Oh my god  
One day Im gonna kill you and when you die youre gonna have to stand at the gates and justify the  
ingredients youve wasted  


* * *

christopholes  
food misbehavior is the least of my earthly crimes  


* * *

Miklan  
Still counts  


* * *

christopholes  
ok on a scale of like  
making froot loops related dishes to like... committing acts of terrorism  
clearly the food is on the bottom  


* * *

Miklan  
No shit  


* * *

christopholes  
god be like  
you good to get in fam... wait  
**premarital sex?**  
electric chair  


* * *

Miklan  
Gods gonna send me to hell for having premarital sex so I can have more premarital sex  
Already know Im going to hell so I might as well fuck someone whilst Im there  


* * *

christopholes  
yeah like what do you thinnks gonna fucking happen if you put a bunch of ppl that have had premarital sex  
in the same room  
god  


* * *

Miklan  
God. Moron  


* * *

christopholes  
do you think we're gonna get married?  
no  


* * *

Miklan  
Hell no. Ive given up on that  


* * *

christopholes  
marriage is a scam  
but like, a cute scam  


* * *

Miklan  
I _guess_  


* * *

christopholes  
its like  
i never had any desire to get married ever, especially since for the longest time it wasnt even feasible. and  
ive always thought the institution of marriage is stupid like,. not getting into it.  
i think its only after i got into all this mess that ive kinda been like  
i cant have it anymore. for reasons. so now im like. sad for some reason  
isnt that stupid  


* * *

Miklan  
Youre nuts  
I dont know. I guess. Before you had the choice, but now you dont. Its like when someone tells you not to  
do something, and you werent gonna do it, but because they said that, you kinda want to  


* * *

christopholes  
its like. i dont like the idea of some dickhead telling me im gonna change my mind and want it one day but  
im a whole person that experiences change and growth so like  
its the idea that i never can now  
whatever no man that wants to get married is good enough to marry me  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah, well. Ill drink to that  
I dont think Im marriage material anyway  


* * *

christopholes  
funny how "mood" is just "ill drink to that" for ppl that dont drink  
whats marriage material anyways  
is it looking acceptable in a monkey suit or is it... knowing how to balance a joint check account  


* * *

Miklan  
Ill drink to that is for people who dont know what "mood" or "wig" means and are too afraid to ask  
Just being acceptable in general, I guess  
Having your shit together  


* * *

christopholes  
no one has their shit together  
your parents were married mik  
talk about marriage material and look at actual married people for five seconds  
the bar is on the ground  


* * *

Miklan  
Theyre old and straight. Obviously the bar is scraping the damn ground  
Hey, apparently my parents sleep in separate rooms now. How hilarious is that  
When you banish your man to the couch because the thought of sharing a bed with him fills you with  
visceral disgust   


* * *

christopholes  
hoooly shit  
is that for real  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh-huh. Sylvain told me  


* * *

christopholes  
sylvain with the receipts on his parents  
...so  
does that mean you guys are talking more?  


* * *

Miklan  
I guess so  
We had a pretty long conversation yesterday  
Just kind of shot the shit for awhile. Sylvain told me some things I needed to hear. It was... uh, good  


* * *

christopholes  
hey thats good thats progress, you guys sound like things are progressing  
what do you mean by things you needed to hear?  


* * *

Miklan  
He got some things off his chest. About how he felt, about how I made him feel. Cant imagine how long hes  
been stewing on all of that shit. It wasnt pleasant to hear and it made me feel like a dickhead, but I acted  
like a dickhead, so I can only blame myself for that  
I think I understand him a little better. Maybe. For the first time in fuck knows how long  


* * *

christopholes  
damn.⠀⠀thats really really fucking good  
cant imagine how hard it was to, sit and hear any of it, im proud of you man  
got me feelin all tender and shit  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Stop. Me too  
.. Thanks, though. It was. Interesting. Kinda makes me wish I could do more, but I guess listening is a start  


* * *

christopholes  
taking it at his pace is the goal probably.  
dont wanna be that guy thats soooo eager to prove hes not a shithead anymore that he just inserts himself  
yknow  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh, fuck no. Thatd be weird  


* * *

christopholes  
lol  
do you think you could give me some advice maybe  


* * *

Miklan  
I guess. Whats on your mind  


* * *

christopholes  
when i fucked up, i couldnt listen to anything ashe said  
how do you just take it, listen in to someone tell you that theyre angry with you over things that you did like  
yes i did that shit. i did. it sucked. it really sucked. i know you need to express that. you need to be able to  
say it but.  
hearing it feels so garbage man  
i want things to be ok again without needing to flog myself over it, like i havent been for nine years  


* * *

Miklan  
I mean  
Yeah. It does feel garbage. Its meant to  
Dont think theres ever a nice way for someone to say that you fucked up, or that you fucked them up.  
Youve just gotta get over yourself for long enough to force yourself to listen. They probably feel just as  
shitty being up front as you do about hearing it  
I mean, put yourself in Ashes shoes. I know youve had it tough for years. But this is the first time hes had  
any sort of, uh... I dont know. Relief. Hes got shit to get off his chest  
And Im sure you do, too, yeah?  


* * *

christopholes  
i guess so.  
its weird spending so much of your life making normalcy out of horrible things.  
i had the worst thought in the world while he was trying to talk to me even a little. before i closed up and  
then he also started to clam up.  
he was there for me, despite everything, he was almost in tears and i just stood there thinking to myself  
that... what ive been through is so much worse than what hes been through.  
and i hate myself for thinking that even for two seconds  
because theres no way to fucking compare those things  
i think its because i cant even explain what i did. i dont know why i did. that time in my life was so wrong,  
mik. i was doing things completely out of line with the person id wanted to be. i just wanted to be a  
fucking. teenage revolutionary so damn bad that i thought why not just be a martyr. die for this cause  
except not really and just be remembered in this fucked up way.  
not to mention id suffer actual jail time if i was found.  
it all just made so much sense at the time. and im a completely different person now that i just look back  
on all those decisions and think i shouldnt be responsible. like that wasnt me. like the current me is just  
chained to all of those events against my consent or something.  
i dont know how to do it. but im gonna lose ashe if i dont. and this time he wont like me..  


* * *

Miklan  
Chris.. Youre allowed to think what happened was unfair. The way youve been living for the past nine  
years because of a mistake you made when you were young and stupid is fucked up. Nobody deserves  
that, and least of all you. Its not like youre a horrible person. You never have been  
But the point of talking it out isnt about trying to outdo eachother in whose been suffering the most  
Like you said, you cant measure that  
You just... need to be honest with eachother. If you both clam up at the thought of being up front, you  
just arent gonna get anywhere. Youre gonna be tiptoeing around this stupid ugly elephant in the middle  
of the room for the rest of your lives whilst you sit and stew, which is just as unbearable as hearing the  
truth, if not more so  
Its not, uh. One sided. You can tell Ashe how you feel, too. In fact, hed probably be open to that. I  
reckon he wants to know what the fuck happened just as much as you want to get away from it  
The sooner its out there, the sooner you can work on it together  
Move on from it. Loosen the chains. Whatever you wanna call it  


* * *

**Christophe runs his hands back through his hair and yanks out the like, three cigarettes he's**  
**stashed in there. Now he is smoking all of them. Fuck.**  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
i hear you  
i dont know what im thinking but this helps me put it into perspective  
do you think itd just be better if we both said everything we felt and just... didnt worry about whether it  
hurt each other  
like ...  
its bound to no matter what  
is the way to go about this just to be raw just say fuck it  
like  
fuck it  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
⠀  
im mad  


* * *

Miklan  
I think so. Youre just hurting eachother more if you beat around the bush or try and lessen the blow by  
making it seem better than it was cuz youre worried about stepping on toes  


* * *

christopholes  
mmmm  
makes sense  
next time i talk to him i can... be better about it. hopefully.  
maybe if we get it out in text form itll be easier. the harder sentences at least. so i dont have to see his  
eyes on me.  
its hard  


* * *

Miklan  
It is  
Youll get there. Even talking to me about it is progress  
Give yourself a little credit  


* * *

christopholes  
aint it embarrassing  
how like  


* * *

**oh fuck christophe realizes that itd probably be so fucking rude if he was like 'isnt it embarrassing**  
**how youre doing a better job at this than me.' how did he not realize that before he started typing oh**  
**god back pedal back pedal.**  


* * *

how im just not good at this shit at all hahahahahaha  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Nah  
Do you wanna know whats embarrassing. Having to go out and buy spackling paste and making up an  
excuse when the cashier asks what its for  


* * *

christopholes  
that stuff tastes terrible mik dont bother  


* * *

Miklan  
Shit. Wish youd told me that sooner  


* * *

christopholes  
whats your excuse for buying it then  


* * *

Miklan  
Redecorating an old room. Cant go wrong with that one  
If you mean what I actually did  
Punched a hole in the kitchen wall  


* * *

christopholes  
wow  
was that before or after telling your dad you hate him, drinking a mountain dew, and doing sit ups to lose  
yourself  


* * *

Miklan  
After  


* * *

christopholes  
oh and you were bottoming too  
a multitasker  


* * *

Miklan  
Who the fuck would bottom whilst listening to Eminem  


* * *

christopholes  
anybody thats fucking you id imagine  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Hilarious  


* * *

christopholes  
im thrown by the implication that no one would bottom listening to eminem but someone would top  
two tops just trying to top one another while eminem raps furiously in the background about idk burning  
down his wifes house  


* * *

Miklan  
That sounds like a fucking nightmare and if anyone ever tried to initate that with me they would be dead on  
the pavement  


* * *

christopholes  
that wouldnt happen miklan  
are any men lining up to top you  


* * *

Miklan  
I fucking hope not  


* * *

christopholes  
90y09e5u;0s5ur5'd9-0r5'i0d6ot'0=ixr5i0c/-0/[8[-/69cit'-[opd57'd-[98't6  
ok i really howled just now  


* * *

Miklan  
Jesus  
Some guy topped my drink up the other night, if that counts. Do you ever have to remind yourself not to  
come onto someone who shows you basic human decency  
Disregard that actually that sounds sad  


* * *

christopholes  
huh?  
i mean  
i specifically dont remind myself of that  
thats probably⠀⠀my problem  


* * *

Miklan  
Haha  


* * *

christopholes  
???  
if youre laughing at me being a skank then im laughing with you  
but you dont sound like it  


* * *

Miklan  
Im never not gonna laugh at you being a whore  
Just realized how pathetic all of this is after I said it, is all. Its the marriage conversation all over again  


* * *

christopholes  
whats pathetic, you? na  
i dont think theres like... literally anything wrong with someone paying you attention and you paying  
attention back  
maybe some people would argue thats weird or sad but its like  
not everyone does relationships  


* * *

Miklan  
I guess  
I dont know. Whatever. Ignore me, Im just thinking out loud  


* * *

christopholes  
im not gonna ignore you  
youre allowed to talk, or think out loud. just. say whatever  
like...  


* * *

**Christophe scrounges around for more cigarettes, fuck, he's digging in the space between his**  
**motel bed and the motel wall for his fucking motel cigarettes. Finding the box, he shoves two more**  
**in his face and puffs. This shouldn't feel so stressful, holy shit.**  


* * *

im your friend arent i?  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah?  
Its really not a big deal. I was just thinking about, like. Im nearly thirty years old. That in itself is  
miserable. But the last serious relationship I had was ten years ago and all Ive done since is fuck  
around  
Again, its whatever. Thats pretty on brand for the men in our family  


* * *

christopholes  
is that miserable?  
i havent had a relationship in just as long.  
...thats something i havent thought about  
the dude i was seeing at the time of my "death" is... probably out there somewhere. but. we weren't super  
serious so its whatever i guess.  
but if you think youre miserable, ill be miserable right there along with you  


* * *

Miklan  
Youre weird  
Thanks, I guess  
Maybe we should make another pact that if neither of us are married by forty we marry for tax benefits  
Just kidding  
What guy, anyway? The one you kept talking about having a crush on?  


* * *

christopholes  
im weird for sticking by you? yea ;p  
now see, the institution of marriage is garbage but therse so many benefits to being married that maybe  
thats why im upset at the concept of not being able to now  
cant get any marriage benefits when youre married to a man declared dead by the government  
and uh. na. that guy i had a crush on kinda got away from me. hes out there somewhere too.  
i just had somethin with some dude i met through red lib. thought i was soooo anarchist and  
forward-thinking. he wouldnt like who i am now anyways.  


* * *

Miklan  
Ya   
Guess not. You know what benefits you can get, though? Apparently if you propose in fast food joints, they  
give you a free meal. Just keep doing that in places all over town until youre satisfied  
Weird how that all works out though. Makes you wonder where theyre at  
Probably doesnt matter, thinking about it more. Not worth reconnecting with someone if theyre just gonna  
shit all over you. Youre fine  
Well  
Apart from being a damn freak in the kitchen  


* * *

christopholes  
we should do that next time we get sushi, let me propose to you for the free tempura   
and im not fussed. im proud that im not the person i was then. the person i was then had a completely  
different view on politics than i do now. he wouldnt like who i am now and honestly id spit on him. so fairs  
fair  
and my cookings phenomenal. im gonna make some big strong man so happy one day with my froot loops  
recipes  


* * *

Miklan  
Buy me a nice ring and Ill think about it   
Guess not. Id spit on him too, for what its worth. All of your friends from back then were self righteous freaks  
Are you sure?  


* * *

christopholes  
i got u   
its 24 karat razzleberry  
  
also 1) ya my friends back then that werent you, holst, catherine, jeritza, and glenn just sucked. and 2) yes  
im sure  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Whatever you say, Christopholes  


* * *

christopholes  
lets roleplay. youre my **fit** husband and you come home to me in the kitchen and im cookin you up  
some righteous dinner. just some fat fucking cuisine. you enter to find it on the table. how do you react to  
this bombastic feast?  


* * *

Miklan  
I do my damn best to avoid eye contact with whats on the table. I come sauntering over to you and wrap my  
arms around your waist whilst youre at the stove. _I gotta give you something,_ I say into your ear.  
_Food can wait._  


* * *

**Christophe THROWS his phone and leaves his motel room to walk around the complex. HHoly shit.**  
**Christophe returns to his motel room and feels around for his phone because where the hell did he**  
**throw it. How did it end up in the kitchen? HELP.**  


* * *

christopholes  
oooo did i fail to mention that im just wearing an apron and thats all bc thats important also what do u have  
for me mr husband  


* * *

Miklan  
I trail my hands downwards, and my voice drops to a whisper when I say...  
_If you ever show me this shit again I will go absolutely fucking insane._  
I pick you up and suplex you into the kitchen floor, killing you instantly.  
Dumbass  


* * *

christopholes  
miklan anschutz oh my fucking god  


* * *

Miklan  
Why the fuck would you be wearing an apron to put Froot Loops on a slice of cold pizza  


* * *

christopholes  
dickhead i do that naked  
i put the apron on to be sexy  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
man i cant wait for miklan gautier to walk into my room like donkey kong and smash a barrel over my head,  
killing me instantly  


* * *

Miklan  
One of these days I really am gonna do that  
Whatd you think of my writing, anyway? Was it great, or was it great?  
I should write porn, or some shit  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
write porn and ill read it  


* * *

Miklan  
Thanks. You can be the proof reader  


* * *

christopholes  
does all your porn end in suplexes?  
does all your sex end in suplexes?  


* * *

Miklan  
Wouldnt _you_ like to know  


* * *

**Christophe pinches the bridge of his nose.**  


* * *

christopholes  
thats kinda why i asked   


* * *

**Miklan blinks at that. What.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Hilarious   


* * *

christopholes  
im funny ya  


* * *

Miklan  
Does all of _your sex_ end in suplexes?  


* * *

christopholes  
na  
i cant really pick up any of the guys i pick up  
if he doesnt look like he could launch me across a football stadium then chances are i didnt take him home.  


* * *

Miklan  
So thats what youre into, huh  
I _meant_ you being suplexed, anyway. Hard to imagine someone else wouldnt want to throw you like a  
football  


* * *

christopholes  
oh yes i love being sports  
im usually not suplexed at the end of sex  
usually its like. before sex  


* * *

Miklan  
Fucking christ  
Okay, well. Ive never done that to anyone. Props to me  


* * *

christopholes  
wow youve never just lifted someone up and suplexed them onto a bed before  
sad excuse for a top  


* * *

Miklan  
Killing them instantly? Cant say I have  
Youre the first. Congrats  


* * *

christopholes  
im the what  


* * *

Miklan  
The first to be suplexed .. ? Idiot, I killed you in the roleplay  


* * *

christopholes  
wow ok suplex me in real life coward  


* * *

Miklan  
Im starting to think youd like that  


* * *

christopholes  
maybe you should then  


* * *

**Christophe says "What" at what he's just said.**  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀What  


* * *

**Christophe screams "FUCK."**  


* * *

christopholes  
?  


* * *

Miklan  
??  


* * *

christopholes  
did i say something confusing  


* * *

Miklan  
Just trying to figure out if youre kidding or not. Hard to tell  


* * *

**Christophe sweats. So... does that mean he'd be okay if it wasn't kidding? Oh god help.**  


* * *

christopholes  
kidding about you performing a wrestling move on me in the kitchen??? idgi  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh  
Fuck. Yeah, okay. You were talking about the kitchen  
Obviously  


* * *

christopholes  
the fuck did you think i meant  


* * *

Miklan  
Dont worry about it?  


* * *

christopholes  
ohlol  
i know what u meant  


* * *

Miklan  
Why the fuck did you ask if you knew  


* * *

christopholes  
i mean i just realized it  
......................................... **lol**  


* * *

Miklan  
OK  


* * *

christopholes  
thats funny  
thats kinda cute actually  


* * *

Miklan  
_What?_  


* * *

christopholes  
im havin a laff  


* * *

Miklan  
Why is me thinking you wanted to get railed 'cute'  


* * *

christopholes  
lmfao... prolly cause rereading your messages you sound like a deer in the headlights  


* * *

Miklan  
Hardly. I just dont know what the fuck is going through your head half of the time  


* * *

christopholes  
would you like to know  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

**Is Miklan being flirted with? What.**  


* * *

Ill bite. Fill me in   


* * *

christopholes  
lol ok  
youre the one that made it like that so dont go trying to point fingers here or there or say that i'm  
responsible for anything but  
whos to say i wouldnt mind it   


* * *

**Miklan goes, "Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Why the pause? He went to light a cigarette.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Thats a pretty damn wishy washy way of saying you want to get fucked  


* * *

christopholes  
you're the one that brought it up??????  
how am i being wishy washy by saying  
sure why not  
fuck it whatever yknow  
not like ive never considered it  
yknow whore and all that  
its not serious or anything  
i mean you probably have too  


* * *

**Christophe covers his face, asking himself why, and how the fuck does he get out of this now. He**  
**should stop talking. He's going to stop talking. Ok no, turn it into a joke. That makes it casual and**  
**not weird.**  


* * *

like im hot so i know you have  


* * *

Miklan  
Youve thought about sleeping with me before?  
Haha. Fuck  
Bet the thought of me coming up behind you had you all hot under the collar, huh.  


* * *

christopholes  
gonna be honest? really did  


* * *

Miklan  
Youre so easy, getting riled up over a joke  
I could do better.  


* * *

christopholes  
maybe im easy if its you, but go ahead if you feel so inclined  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh-huhh. Now that Im thinking about it, I really could just pick you up like you weighed nothing and do  
whatever the hell I wanted, couldnt I. Strip you out of that coat. Feel you up on the motel bed. Fuck some  
of the tension out of you until you cant take it anymore.  
I wonder if the walls are thin enough for your neighbors to hear? I reckon you make some good noises.  


* * *

christopholes  
why dont you then? you know where i stay at. cmon whens the last time someone just let you do everything  
you wanted? fuck around and find out what i sound like trembling around you, mik.  


* * *

Miklan  
Tell me how much you want it first.  


* * *

christopholes  
oh so youre into begging  
need your ego pet that bad?  


* * *

Miklan  
Nah. I just think its cute that youre so damn needy youve thought about me pounding you before. Tell me  
all about it, and Ill give you what you want right now.  


* * *

**Christophe has no idea whether letting that slip was a blessing or a curse. At least Miklan is a**  
**regular person and could never imagine that it goes back way further than expected.**  


* * *

christopholes  
hhuh  
why are you assuming its bc im needy and not bc youre you? maybe its not bc im a whore that lets men  
take their turns. maybe its bc i like the cut of your jaw, how big you are, how rough i imagine youd be.  
maybe its cause youve got big hands and ive thought of them on me plenty of times. what about that? why  
beg when i can do that?  


* * *

Miklan  
.. What?  


* * *

christopholes  
hm?  
what did it fluster you to know im actually attracted to you or something  
were you thinking this whole time that i just wanted to fuck bc idk im just a slut and ill fuck anyone  


* * *

Miklan  
What? No. Idiot. I dont think youd fuck anyone, you have some standards  
I didnt think you were attracted to me in that way. Genuinely, I mean. I know the four of us fooled around  
when we were young, tried shit out, I thought - maybe it was that  


* * *

christopholes  
uuh. ya. i am. if that makes you feel uncomfortable, which im guessing it does since you broke our little  
sexting to go '.. What?' at me, then you can pretend i didnt say it or something idk  
you dont have to like. say that youre attracted to me in return.  
you can just come wreck me like i want you to. if you really want to know, id love it if you held me down  
and took me like im nothing at all, like i weigh nothing. just show me whos boss. and it doesnt have to be  
anything else.  


* * *

Miklan  
As if I could gloss over something like that  


* * *

**_You're the first person that has in years._**  


* * *

Im not uncomfortable because its you, or because Im not attracted to you. Youre a good looking guy. Youre  
a fucking _good_ guy in general. This is just a weird way to find out that you have feelings for me  


* * *

**_That you've been paying attention to me so closely. How long has it been that way?_**  


* * *

I wouldnt have.. Ugh  


* * *

**Whoa, wait, time out. Hold on. Being attracted to physically and... having romantic feelings isn't**  
**the same thing, at least not to Chris. He blinks a few times. Holy miscommunication, but...**  
**Christophe isn't actually sure about how he feels, so he can't really correct what he meant. Maybe...**  
**he does? Hell, he doesn't know. He hasn't explored those feelings since he was teenager, before all**  
**of this. All he knows is that he wasn't—capital W here—Wasn't saying he had feelings for Miklan.**  
**But... oh fucking hell.**  


* * *

christopholes  
uh. gimme a second  
you wouldn't have what  


* * *

Miklan  
Said what I did. Gone along with it  
You know I wouldnt treat you like you were nothing  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont understand what you mean  
it was hot? we were saying things that were hot and turning each other on?  
its just dirty talk, its nothing deeper than that.  
um  
are you saying that you wouldnt have gone along with the sexting if youd known that i 'had feelings'  
basically?  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck. No, thats not what Im saying. Im saying I would have been a little damn tactful about it  
I sleep around, sure, but I dont - I wouldnt use someone. Especially not if I knew how they felt  
Im not _that_ big of a dickhead  
This is a weird ass conversation to have after sexting. It was hot, dont get me wrong. Im still sitting in my  
shitty car like an idiot. But  
Fuck. Nevermind. This is stupid  


* * *

**Christophe types up a bunch of different things and he has no idea how to fix this. It dawns on**  
**him, sort of hauntingly that it might mean something that this is bothering him so badly. If he**  
**just wanted to fuck Miklan and it was just physical attraction, it might not make him feel so queasy**  
**and awful to have ruined this. A ruined fling is whatever. This... ? Feels different. He's on his 7th**  
**cig in a row.**  


* * *

christopholes  
you dont use anyone. you wouldnt use me. i  
theres nothing wrong with fucking. anything you did. did i say that there was anything wrong?  
you are a thousand percent confusing the hell out of me and i dont get what youre on about. i liked  
everything that you were telling me. if me saying that i found you physically attractive didnt suddenly bug  
you out then what is it because im not comprehending. im not angry i just dont get it.  
you didnt do anything to upset me  


* * *

**Miklan's sitting out in his car in the street, brows furrowed and looking a million different shades**  
**of confused right now. He thought he made the point clear enough. He's not quite sure what Chris**  
**isn't getting here, or if he's just refusing to see it.**  


* * *

Miklan  
For christs sake  
Whats bugging me is the way youre treating it. Like I can just brush aside you saying something so  
personal, that itd be okay for me to fuck you if I didnt feel the same despite knowing theres more going on  
with you? It doesnt sit right with me  


* * *

christopholes  
ok  
i get you now, sorry  
well then ill ask, how do you feel?  


* * *

Miklan  
About you?  
I think youre a dipshit  


* * *

**And that makes him bark laugh, genuinely, pathetically, because my god, what a way to start a**  
**tangent.**  


* * *

Trying to understand you sometimes is about as taxing as taking a tray out of the oven bare handed.  
But...  
Look, I dont know. I feel like youre a good friend. Youve been there for me for a long damn time, stuck up  
for me even though you probably shouldnt. No matter how much you fall off the radar you always pop back  
up again to talk to me like there was no gap at all. Youre funny, youre weird, youre fucking spontaneous.  
You make me feel like Im not nearing thirty  


* * *

**Oh my god. He's started, and now he can't stop.**  


* * *

I like hanging out with you. Youre good company  
The other day in the sushi restaurant, that was the most fun Ive had in fuck knows how long. You held my  
hands across the table and made me do something stupid as all hell, and for what? I still dont know  
I saw your underwear in the car and thought, _oh my god_ , what the hell is wrong with you?  
And... uh  


* * *

**_Oh._**  


* * *

christopholes  
mik  
you um.  


* * *

**Christophe blinks a few times, reading over everything, his chest feeling warm, his stomach feeling**  
**fuzzy. Oh Sothis Christ. He... covers his mouth? This is so sweet. This is... Oh a thousand times**  
**over. Oh. Just oh. Just. Okay, maybe this isn't terrible. Maybe this is okay. This can be fine.**  
**Christophe swallows hard because... really he didn't think Miklan was going to reply like this. He**  
**expected the no, he expected the confusion but without all of this, without the... compliments,**  
**without the sudden reminiscing. Fucking oh.**  


* * *

life is so fucking hard, right. shit sucks. you make it suck so much less. i dont know if anyones ever told you  
that you deserve to be stuck up for, to not feel so old, greyed out. truth is i shouldnt be the only one to do  
that for you. but knowing that i do is... its uplifting to know.  
aah. i just think.  
i dont think i wouldve made it this far without you here to talk to, to just... be kind. i dont think people think  
that youre kind but i know that you are.  
i dont think you know it, sometimes.  
bbut. i dont want you to think that i just like that youre around. it might seem weird, right. like... of course  
this guy will catch feelings. im the only one he talks to. im the only person available. its been nine years  
right. bound to happen eventually.  
but i had a similar feeling before everything got sofucked up.  
whatever i feel isnt because im me.  
its because youre you  


* * *

**Frankly, Miklan didn't expect Miklan to reply like this. He started off on a 'I don't know', on a 'We're**  
**good friends, but-' and had found himself steadily spilling thoughts and feelings that he didn't quite**  
**know were there. The implications are new, startling, _scary_ , and for a long time he stares out of the**  
**windscreen into the steadily darkening street. But beneath the fear, he feels... good. About as good**  
**as you can feel when you're Miklan fucking Gautier and being in love has been foreign to you for**  
**almost ten years, anyway. He runs his hand through his hair, avoids eye contact with himself in the**  
**rear view mirror.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh  
Im... glad I do that for you  
Its mutual. I shouldnt have to tell you that, but. You know. Lately youve pushed me in a direction that I  
wouldnt have chosen to take by myself. Its been rough, but not as rough as it wouldve been otherwise.  
And this isnt me taking advantage of good advice, or viewing you as a convenience, or whatever  
Its genuinely... It helps. To have someone, yeah? Someone who gets it. I havent had that since...  
Awhile. I havent had that in awhile  


* * *

**Fuck. He types up and deletes a lot of different things from here on out. Some sappy, some self**  
**depreciating, some outright disbelief. In the end, he offers a simple,**  


* * *

I guess. Im me, youre you  
Im thankful I met you. You know that, right?  


* * *

**Christophe is curled up on his motel bed, feeling kind of wheezy. Maybe he should stop**  
**chainsmoking for the night. He's shivering. He feels lightheaded but _good._**  


* * *

christopholes  
im happy ive helped. im happy that im someone who gets you, someone that gets to know you. im happy...  
you make me happy.  
how the hell did we get to this point.  


* * *

**He's laughing around a smoke, flicking the ash all over his pillow.**  


* * *

i think maybe this is better than plain ole sexting. we on some new shit  
but uh. im really thankful i met you, miklan. more than i know how to actually try and say. i feel like its  
moot to try and express it. it wont come out enough. no matter what i say it wont be enough. to let you  
know.  
maybe though  
...maybe  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh my god  
Shut the fuck up. Jesus  


* * *

**He says that, but he's laughing. Legitimately.**  


* * *

Maybe?  


* * *

christopholes  
maybe..............................................................................................  


* * *

Miklan  
Maybe............................... ?  


* * *

christopholes  
youll let me show you  


* * *

Miklan  
...  
Give me five minutes  


* * *

christopholes  
ill be here  
  


* * *


	20. Be Good To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miklan comes to visit Christophe at his motel, and they share a night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our rp cuts off before they get down to it, but they do... get some!! *claps* hurray for them!

Five minutes isn’t a long time to get ready. Get ready for _what_ exactly, Christophe has no idea. His heart is beating a thousand times a fucking minute and he’s tossing his scrawny, stupid ass in the shower quicker than he can dump out ashtrays and straighten up the place. Lord only knows why he’s suddenly throwing a fit by himself. Miklan’s seen the place. Miklan’s seen _worse_. Christophe’s eaten little today and smoked himself silly. He scrubs at his skin like he does when a hookup comes over.

Motel shampoo sucks. It comes in short supply, in little bottles they don’t replace often. Rationing it for when he _needs_ to be cleanly, Christophe dumps the whole fucking thing on his head. Fucking nobody needs to see him nicely more than Miklan does right now or so help him _God_ with a capital G for once. When he’s out, he slips on the tile floor and earns himself a few new bruises before scrambling for the bedside table.

_Where’sthefuckingcondomsandlubeohtheretheyare_. Christophe sighs so stiffly and wonders if it looks too eager to just sit them on top of the bedside table. No, just leave them in the drawer. That’s fine. What next? Oh, the bed. The bed looks terrible. He sprays it with Febreeze so thoroughly he’s coughing it back up and he contemplates wearing clothes.

…why the fuck is he contemplating whether to put on _anything?_ He can’t answer the fucking door naked. Or maybe he can. No, fucking… _be normal holy shit_. Christophe decides on something sort of in the middle, throwing on that big green coat of his and… just some boxers.

The door is knocked on and Christophe shivers. _Fuck, his hair is wet, he has to rebandage his fingers, shit shit shit_ —

“Hold on,” he stammers out, trying to breathe. He can do this. _He can do this_.

Although Miklan said five minutes, it feels like it’s been an eternity between their conversation and him actually showing up at the motel door. He’s made this journey and similar ones a thousand times before as Chris had jumped from residence to residence across Fodlan, yet this is quite possibly the first he’s been on autopilot the entire time, only acutely aware of the turns taken and shifts of the gear-stick made. _No thoughts, head empty_ is _very_ much a sentiment he feels deep at his core right now. 

It’s not until the hotel door is opened and Miklan finds himself face to face with a soaking wet Christophe does the stupor begin to dissipate.

Perhaps it’s the general underlying nerves, but Miklan had been expecting to see something terrifying, something that would result in a shocking revelation worthy of shattering the earlier euphoria of being _loved_ … but it never comes. It’s just Chris. Chris, with his fringe plastered to his forehead. Chris, reeking of something artificial and floral. Chris, with his coat and his freckles and the many bumps and cuts that make him simultaneously captivating and a cause for concern. It’s comforting. It’s _familiar_.

“Hi,” Miklan says, because he doesn’t know how else to start this. God. Fuck. He’s not usually this awkward.

Then again, there’s not usually so much at stake.

Christophe decides fuck it. He’s not gonna let Miklan look at the damn things anyways. Keeping his hands mostly hidden beneath the sleeves of his fluffy jacket, Christophe can’t find his hair tie that usually pulls his bangs out of his face and instead he’s clamoring to the door as quickly as he can. It’ll kill him to leave Miklan loitering outside. When he does make it there, Christophe is pretty eye to eye with him, what with Miklan wearing shoes and Christophe slouching barefoot. There’s a look on his face that Christophe can’t really place, but his dry greeting makes him smile. For some reason, displacement and confusion only comes across as earnest and adorable on Miklan’s face. The scar is to blame. It makes him look hardened and stoic and so anything that’s a departure from that just tugs at his heart.

He’s cute and Christophe’s smiling.

_Fuck_ , and then he remembers he didn’t brush his teeth. Gross. He’ll do that when Miklan comes inside. Covering his mouth, Christophe clears his throat and goes, “hey, uh… come in, I just gotta do somethin’ real quick.” Once Miklan’s inside, Christophe smothers down the impulse he gets to just… touch him in some way. If Miklan makes any attempts, Christophe is oblivious as he darts into the bathroom.

Running water is heard as he shoves his toothbrush into his mouth and scrubs until his gums are bleeding. In the meantime, Miklan can see what a sty the place is. At least all of the garbage is piled up near the garbage can in the back of the kitchen area. New for Chris.

Christophe slaps his face a few times. _You can do it. You can do this. You’ve done it a thousand times before. Just… unzip your jacket a bit._ He does. Perfect. Sexy. Showing off a bruise but that’s fine. He traipses out of the bathroom and finds wherever Miklan’s floated to, hanging back by the door as he leans on the wall contemplatively.

“So…” Christophe scratches his neck. “I tried to make it look nice.” _I_ tried to look nice.

A lot happens very quickly, so Miklan just lets him go without a word of protest, simply listening to the sound of running water and the echoes of a slap that Miklan can’t _quite_ place as Christophe slapping his cheeks or slapping his ass. The thought of the latter makes him break out into a strange lopsided grin that he immediately suppresses, because grinning in the middle of a motel room like a teenager who’s just been caught telling a dirty joke is _weird_ and immature for someone who came here to get laid, probably.

Miklan’s shrugging off his own coat and fighting off the urge to quickly run around and pick up the remainders of carpet trash when Christophe emerges once again, slovenly leaning against the wall. It makes him laugh lowly, the sound breathy. “Good job,” he says, and maintains direct eye contact with an M&M’s packet peeking out from beneath the bed. _Stay classy, Chris_. “I thought I cleaned up in here the other day.” Not that it would stay clean for long. He’s not stupid enough to believe that Chris didn’t start dropping trash the moment Miklan stepped foot outside to leave, but it slips out all the same, likely a nervous attempt to stop awkward silence creeping in. _Why so anxious? This isn’t your first time. It’s Christophe, for God’s sake. Don’t talk about how clean his house if you’re trying to flirt. Idiot. Stupid._

He glances over at the other finally, head slightly tilted as he takes in the bare skin and awkward mannerisms. The temptation to walk over and touch him is both overwhelming and daunting. “You look different with your hair down.” It’s cute.

Miklan’s looking at… something. Christophe’s eyes try to follow but from his vantage point he can’t quite make out the M&M wrapper. Look, Halloween is right around the corner. How can he not fucking buy it when the shit’s being shoved in his face? …The rest of the bag is under the bed too but shhhh.

_Oh._ The next remark to come out lets Christophe know what he’s busy gawking at instead of him. Some garbage somewhere. He winces for half a second before masking it with neutrality. With the jacket open further, the sleeves bag and sag, the shoulders of the jacket slope loosely from his shoulders and his waifish frame is never more visible than it is now. God, all that talk of Miklan lifting him up like he weighs nothing. Really, in comparison to Miklan’s weight, that’s not even far from true, and he feels something warm in his face when Miklan comments on his hair.

Yeah, this wasn’t on purpose, but he’ll act like it was. A ghost of how he should look makes a reprise as he flings some fingers back through his bangs, shoving them back before letting them flop back into his face, a wry smile and a, “yeah?” Maybe he should have it down more often. He doesn’t know if Mik actually likes it or not.

Approaching Miklan now that he’s gotten his own coat off, Christophe slides right past him and plops a seat down on the bed, straightening out some of the wrinkles in the sheets as a compulsion before glancing back up at him, fawnlike and coy. “Is it a good different?”

“Maybe.” This whole situation is a good kind of different. Christophe could have emerged from the bathroom with a completely new retina burning hair colour and it wouldn’t have budged Miklan’s feelings any in the moment, or taken away from how bizarre all of this already is as it stands.

When Chris slinks past him, his breath catches in his throat and it doesn’t take him long to realize that he’d been hoping Christophe would touch him, would do _anything_ in the way of physical contact besides sparing him glances across the room. Ah. Suddenly the candy wrappers under the bed aren’t so interesting anymore.

With his shoes taken off whilst Chris was scrubbing at his teeth, Miklan comes padding over in his socks to stand before the other. The height disparity is an amusing one, even like this. A hand is raised without thinking to rake his fingers through damp hair, pushing it back into a style that looks vaguely familiar despite the fact it stubbornly refuses to hold. About a dozen responses die on Miklan’s lips; _I can’t see your eyes as well, I think it makes you look endearingly shaggy, you have two little pieces of hair that I want to tuck behind your ear, and_ “I don’t hate it,” is what he says in the end, eyes lidded and the ghost of a smile across his lips.

His hands lower to Christophe’s face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbones and the surrounding freckles. Up close, he’s pretty. No… Miklan supposes he always has been. It’s not like he often entertained the thought, though it’s undeniable here and now when they’re so close their breaths are mingling. His thoughts are racing at a mile a minute. He wants to hold him. He wants to kiss him. He wants to push him backwards with a shove to the chest, or to straddle him, or to hike his legs up. The confidence from their earlier sexting seems to have thinned out into uncertainty. 

_Please, tell me that this is okay._

Christophe doesn’t think himself to be the shy type. Between the two of them, if you had to assign extrovert and introvert labels, Christophe for all of his necessary hermit behavior was always the more outspoken, adventurous, open one. Miklan’s hand through his hair makes him quiet, makes him something softer and he’s only a hairsbreadth aware as to why.

Maybe it’s something to do with being seventeen and thinking Miklan’s got the world inside of those dark eyes, a more colorful one that no one else gets to see. Well, no one except… him. Christophe is struck by remembering he had a gap tooth in first grade, being made fun for it and his earliest thoughts being _I sure hope Miklan doesn’t think I look funny_. A set of braces fixed that for good, of course. And then even as late as when he first found Miklan again, coming across his bar like an oasis in the desert, he couldn’t fight back the thought, _I don’t want Miklan to take me back out of his life_.

Every cornerstone of Christophe’s life seems punctuated by something with big arms, a strong smile and a fruity laugh-- the same boy he’d been infatuated with years ago. All of these thoughts resurface at the sight of his softest smile… hardly visible, hardly there but, Chris has known him long enough to sense it.

That’s something no one else alive can do.

Miklan’s digits against the bones in his face are cautious, careful, and he closes his eyes as if tempting him to try. Try what? Try anything. Anything at all that he wants, but… Miklan doesn’t, and so Christophe pinches up the edges of Miklan’s shirt from behind the sleeves of his jacket, and tugs him close. Tugs him backwards. Maneuvers him slow until he can make Miklan hover over him, and then he’s holding fast to him like something treasured.

Hell, he wants to kiss, run his hands all over and grope and instead he… does this? Closes his eyes and just… breathes in his fragrance: something like cigarettes and something like Autumn. And Christophe says, “I’ve wanted this a while.”

And he has.

Christophe tugs him close, closer still, and Miklan doesn’t resist all throughout, wordlessly allowing himself to be pulled down onto the hastily made bed and into an equally warm embrace. 

It’s not what he expected. 

But it is everything he didn’t know he wanted. Everything he didn’t know he needed.

How long has it been since someone laid with him like this? Not out of obligation, or with an ulterior motive; just closeness for the sake of closeness, of their own accord. He can’t remember. Frankly, he can’t think of much at all. His eyes slide shut with an unspoken desperation, yearning, and he’s burying his face into his open jacket to rest against the crook of his neck before he has time to process what he’s doing. Christophe, bony as he may be, has always been remarkably soft around the edges, and with how content Miklan appears he may as well have just sunk into a fresh duvet. He feels… safe. Loved. Appreciated.

Perhaps that’s why the next comment stings as much as it does. Miklan’s affections are new, unexplored. Christophe’s are old, neglected. He doesn’t want to think about how long ago this all began, or all the times Christophe daydreamed about something seemingly unattainable until their feelings had been spread out onto the table by chance. It tugs at his worn heart strings in a way that most things can’t.

“I’m sorry,” Miklan mumbles against bare skin. His hand is lightly tracing one of the many bruises on his chest as though trying to soothe it, to will it away. “I’m here now,” is all he can offer, perhaps to Chris, or to himself. He isn’t sure.

The way they move together feels destined, programmed, _supposed_ to happen. The way Miklan moves fluid with him, collapses into him, finds his face smoothing into Christophe’s neck… Christophe makes a soft sigh of contentment, the type of sudden noise emblematic of his deepest desires. Without even thinking about it, he’s safe and warm and… way too warm.

Christophe made his peace a decade ago on loving Miklan Gautier, and it’s not something he’ll speak much on out of respect for their friend, respect for the dead. No part of Christophe can rejoice in that loss, but if he is selfish for enjoying these arms around him now, well, he’s never thought himself to be anything but. It’s why the apology hurts to hear. It’s why Chris doesn’t want to think too hard about it, about how if he’d actually been given that chance back then… _his false death would’ve ruined that._

The reassurance rings true and Christophe twitches beneath the scant touch of Miklan’s hand. It’s a rougher thing than the rest of Chris is, but his own hands are worse. That’s why they’re tucked behind his sleeves.

Makes sense as to why he pulls Miklan’s face to him with each of his palms pressed to his temples, not a brush of his fingertips allowed, and he does that little thing he’s always wanted, always since he stalked into that bar like a phantom, haunted him, _frightened him_ , saw the man that he’d become in the time between:

kissed his scar, soft like it were lips, beautiful and meant for the kissing.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, too rapt to add an insult.

_Don’t apologize_ is such an odd thing to hear, given apologies is all Miklan has dished out these last few days. It felt appropriate to say in response to such a genuine admission that couldn’t be returned by him in good conscience. Even with the reassurance, a minuscule part of him still remains sorry for not having picked up on subtext sooner. Of course, Miklan will never regret his time with Glenn, nor will anything replace what the man made him feel during the period they spent as lovers no matter how many years come to pass… 

But here and now, with Christophe’s lips pressed so tenderly against an attribute Miklan has never thought of as anything less than shamefully ugly, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t overwhelming.

So many times had he found himself looking in the mirror after the accident, flipping between asking _Why me?_ and _This is what I deserve._ It stood as a painful reminder that he was the one who’d lived whilst Glenn had died, barely recognizable when they laid him to rest soon after his demise. The scar _still_ earns him stares and murmurs of disapproval and mirth in public spheres. So for someone to look upon it with such softness, to call him attractive despite his glaring flaws, is more than Miklan could have ever asked for or expected.

Initially, he tenses. But his expression crumples as his cheeks turn pink, exhaling shakily in a rush, and the most he can do is place his hands over the back of Christophe’s own as best he can with the sleeves obscuring them. He holds them tightly, rests his forehead against the others, and says quietly, “You’re too good to me.”

Yes, Miklan has done plenty of things worth apologizing for but god, who hasn’t? Chris can’t throw stones any harder than Miklan could at him. Maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to him. Maybe they’re alike in all of the worst ways. Their demons play well with one another. It’s a fact that makes Christophe feel special when not many things at all achieve that.

Never meant in offense to the one he loved so much, that they all loved so much, but Christophe could play such comparison games for days over the things he couldn’t be and the things he couldn’t do. Wasn’t demure enough, wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t pale like porcelain with dark raven hair- wasn’t… anything he thought Miklan had to like. Couldn’t be there for him, couldn’t do much for him but remain friends. Christophe resigned himself to number two and found it comfortable, found it fulfilling as his best friend.

For once, letting his lips dress the tissue adorning Miklan’s nose, Chris feels as though he’s the only one allowed this privilege, the only one given permission to get this close, the only one able. Perhaps it’s childish, but he clings to that: _“I’m the only one that can do this.”_

It gives him the shakes. It makes him feel valuable, to make Miklan feel good. God, and how could he not know that? Know that pleasing someone else like this could feel better than a pointless fling. Know that he felt this way about one of the only people close to him? It makes his head spin.

Their foreheads touch and Christophe breathes. Assumably, Miklan does too. Assumably, the space between their mouths feels electric and Christophe trembles.

“You be good to me too,” he says, not like was ever any doubt, but because he needs Miklan to be good to him _now._

There’s barely any space between them, now. Miklan is captivated. To call him an impatient man would not typically be wrong by any means, but in the moment it feels as though time has slowed and he’s _okay_ with that. The outside world doesn’t exist; no motel, no Faerghus, no problems, no nothing. Just them, always them, intertwined in a dusty, dimly lit room off the freeway.

He can smell the mint on Christophe’s breath and the underlying nicotine. It’s familiar. It’s inviting, in the weird way that Christophe so often is despite the fact it would be off putting for anyone else. Snapshot memories of the hundreds of times Christophe had leaned forward to light Miklan’s cigarette with his own flash through his mind, and it occurs to him how close yet so far they’d been from doing this before. 

But he’s glad this is happening now. They’re older and arguably wiser, both on the painstaking path to betterment after years of self sabotage and varying degrees of hurt. The teenage romanticist inside of Miklan never left him, not truly. It was often drowned out by anger, by hurt, but even that anger stemmed from a lifetime of longing for _closeness_ that always seemed to be just out of reach, taunting the concept of a life he never thought he’d be able to lead. These are thoughts and feelings that he hasn’t seen for years, kept at bay despite the many flings and momentary surges of weakness. For once, they’re welcomed, and it feels like one less lock has been removed from his weary heart.

_You be good to me too_ , Christophe says, and it’s all Miklan needs to finally close the space between them, meeting Christophe’s lips with his own.

This isn’t… the first time they’ve kissed. They’ve tangled before. They were kids. They were teens. They wanted to learn and maybe even then the stepping stones to finding out this feeling were laid bear but this is so much different than _that_. The feeble, anxious pecks of two bi-curious boys are a far cry away from how Christophe takes a grip on Miklan, fingers feverish beneath his coat, clinging and restless before melting.

His heart rattles dangerously, xylophoning against each of his ribs until the melody makes him dizzier than Miklan’s mouth on his does. And his lips are soft. Christophe’s own are pretty lousy—cracked and bitten, like the man’s never known chap stick but at least they’re warm and wet, the bare minimum requirements for a half decent kiss.

Christophe can’t seem to decide if he wants to crawl inside of Miklan’s skin with how his hands begin to pull and drag at his shirt, or if he wants to go boneless, lay still, be soft and quiet, be _pliant_ and slow. For as much as he can feel a decade long desire fan itself with abandon, he’s enraptured by the wish to do exactly as he’d said: _show him how thankful he is to have met him._

The kiss is alright, but Christophe gives a subtle shove to Miklan’s shoulders, raising him up and breaking the connection only for Christophe’s own mouth to slot itself across his neck. “You deserve to be appreciated.”

And he does. He does, he does, he does. At least Christophe thinks he does, and he proves it when he takes to leaving a confetti spray of kisses across his throat.

It doesn’t bother him. Never has, never will. For all the state he’s in and states he has been in, it’s still _Christophe_ , scruffy features or no. To feel a connection at all is more than Miklan can ask for, and it makes his chest ache with a dull want the more time drags on. He doesn’t realize how much he needed this until their lips are together and copper hair is tickling Christophe’s cheeks, heads aligned so perfectly as though it was meant to be, and a breathy noise of protest leaves his mouth when the other pulls away. _Don’t stop, for God’s sake._

Oh, but he doesn’t. Miklan’s first response to the butterfly kisses across his throat is a small gasp of surprise. It’s an indescribable feeling, the warmth that floods him when the accompanying words are spoken. Miklan has never once felt deserving of anything remotely positive, but it plays on repeat in his mind like a broken record skipping straight to the chorus, to the good bit. Christophe already makes him feel more appreciated than he can ever hope to articulate. He makes Miklan feel seen, makes him feel like a human being worthy of acknowledgement beyond judgement. This is so vastly different from all the times they’ve fooled around, all the times Miklan has devoted his service to a stranger for the night in hopes of finding some fleeting contentment.

This, this is too much. He wants it.

When Christophe tugs at his shirt, he does him the favor of undoing the buttons, allowing the black fabric to slip off his shoulders and rest in the crook of his arms, exposing muscle and scars and faded tattoos. “Please,” it’s muttered, needier than he’d intended it to be.

_So do you._

Christophe is too lucky to have started falling for a man that sees all the ugly in him, the bandages and the scabs and the way his mouth is a talking ashtray and somehow still wants to kiss him. Christophe wouldn’t kiss him, himself that is. He’d kiss Miklan a thousand more times though if he were allowed, if this can continue. Fuck, it dawns on him that he’s got no fucking clue what any of this means and he swallows his heart down. It doesn’t matter. Don’t ruin this by thinking. Stop thinking.

_Oh_ , Miklan makes… gentle kinds of sounds. Christophe nearly pauses, his eyes closing as he shudders a breath inward, as though a wave of _something_ has washed over him in this moment. There’s something so bizarrely appealing about Miklan that has Christophe wanting to kiss and mark-up every inch of him until he’s mapped out from scar to freckle, until every constellation of hurt has a new name: the magic words he can speak into them that make the stars turn bright red.

And fucking, _please_ , he says but it’s not said so much as it’s dragged out of his throat, desperate and Christophe has the most insane impulse known to man, or at least known to Christophe Gaspard, one that he follows through to the most common conclusion when he splatters his hands against Miklan’s shoulders and kisses at the skin like it’s dripping with juice (that is to say with little hickies along the way.)

Perhaps Christophe mimics into his ear, “please?” Perhaps he then exhales a moan and says, “I won’t force you to tell me what you need.” The _unlike you_ left unspoken as his hands travel, free from his coat in a movement of fearlessness he’s seldom felt—some kind of surge of confidence that grows with every sound that falls out of Miklan.

And, if Miklan wants to let him go ahead and do this… maybe Christophe sends a message by grinding their hips together, that he wants to take him.


	21. Happy Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their night together: Christophe and Miklan talk after they've finished having sex.
> 
> Also, it's Halloween night. This is how they spent it.

He’s propped up against the headboard with an obligatory cigarette between his teeth, sheets pulled tightly around himself all the while. He’s half dazed, cheeks flushed, and his chest is still heaving as he struggles to collect his thoughts. Miklan _would_ get up to stand by the window to salvage whatever remaining freshness there is in this room, but he can say with unwavering certainty that if anyone tried to make him walk anywhere right now, he’d likely tear them limb from limb with his bare hands before they could so much as finish the suggestion. Perhaps more than that, he’s content here- content to soak up the atmosphere and remaining closeness, even with his hair a million kinds of messy and his skin slicked with sweat and bite marks and god knows what else.

_This is fine_ , he thinks. _This is good_. And he means it, for once, numb legs and all.

The experience was a foreign one, that much he won’t deny. But something about Christophe’s attentiveness and sincerity had left him entirely willing, swayed by the way the other had looked at him as though he were the only man in the world. The memory is fresh in his mind and will be, he imagines, for a long, long time, drawn out for rainy days and moments of self doubt.

Miklan exhales quickly through his nose, flustered. So much for all the times he’d picked on Chris for being a fucking bottom. He had no idea the other had that in him but, lord, does he know what he’s doing. Is it always like that? It’s not like he would know. Before he entertains the thought of fumbling around for a lighter that he inevitably won’t be able to locate, he wriggles his hand free from beneath the blanket to feel out the other instead. He wants to… He’s not sure. He doesn’t want to thank him, because that’s _weird_ and oddly business-like, nor is he brave enough to let _I love you_ leave his lips. “So.”

“I decided,” he starts. His fingers brush against Christophe’s cheeks in the end, continue until he can smooth strands of white hair behind his ear. “That it’s a good different.” The fringe. You. Me. This. 

Us. In the second moment of weakness that evening, Miklan admits, “You really are beautiful, Gaspard.”

Well. Christophe can count on two hands the amount of times that he’s done _that_. When you’ve done the deed enough times to fill up a thousand people’s hands, that’s comparatively something. That’s comparatively _hilarious_. And what was this… a fucking fluke of nature? Just how many times had Christophe imagined this day in his head entirely differently? Every single one of them, in fact. It should be pathetic that not once in nine years has Christophe ever imagined it going… _this way._ The man has preferences!

But uh… he supposes he really, really… _likes_ Mik a lot if this happenstance occurred. Because Christophe does not care about people, not like that. It’s easy to receive. It’s easy to take. No one’s ever been good enough for Christophe to want to give. Plenty have been greedy enough but not _good_. Not in the way that Miklan Anschutz Gautier is _good_ , the exact word he’d just gotten finished mumbling into his ear about thirty times over until he’d have it memorized in his head forever. Maybe it’d stick around like a mantra, play in his head like a cassette tape while he sleeps, brainwash him with the revolutionary news that he’s _deserving of love_ and shit.

Anyways… all of those feelings notwithstanding, Christophe is beating a pack of cigarettes against his hand before tearing it open, brand new. Now he’s also got a cigarette in his mouth. His hair’s flimsily flattened against the air with sweat and against his neck with much of the same. At least they both _look_ like they had a good time.

…Christophe is still glancing at the markings on his shoulders, though. Honestly, he thought Mik would do worse but, just some drags of his blunt nails across his arms? Most of his focus was on covering his mouth but, Christophe frowns at the idea of Miklan worrying over something as silly as _hurting him_. Please, as if his daydream for a decade wasn’t being fucked into a table.

Whatever, _he’s_ the one feeling around for the lighter when Miklan’s hand meets with his cheek. Christophe hasn’t said much since they’d taken to gathering themselves but… Miklan has him blushing now, sort of. Not long until Miklan’s saying things that Chris can’t hear and then he’s chuckling. His freckles look pink. He shoves Miklan in the side too gently for it to register to either of them probably as anything but an aborted attempt at putting his arm around his back.

“Stooop,” he breathes, his laugh something of a ghost. Bashful, really.

How did this even happen? Christophe can’t think hard right now. No thoughts, head empty. That’s how he is normally but… _post-nut Chris?_ Real bonehead hours.

He just leans on Miklan and says, “where do you keep putting my fucking lighter.”

No thoughts, head empty. That seems to be the theme for today.

Miklan grins around the cigarette when Christophe replies, clearly amused by the small win found in his embarrassment. There’s no hesitation when he slumps onto Chris in return with an audible _oof_ , feeling generous enough to lazily drape a portion of the sheet over him in the same movement. He looks remarkably small without the coat or much of anything at all to bulk him out, he thinks. That only drives home how bizarre this is all the more. Whatever, though.

“Why the fuck would I have it.” He says matter of factly, taking the cigarette from his mouth to twist it loosely between his fingers instead. Holding it in his mouth but being unable to smoke it was starting to make him restless. “ _Where_ would I have it, even.” It’s not like he has any damn pockets. An _Up my ass?_ dies on his lips with a wrinkle of his nose, because that’s decidedly not something he wants to be thinking about right now. 

“Look in your coat pocket, or something. It’s on the floor.” He assumes that’s where it is, anyway, with the thing having been discarded during the commotion.

Yes, why would Miklan have it if not for his obsession with always taking Christophe’s. It didn’t happen this time but _really?_ Might as well pin it on him. Would be the kindest offense to pin on him. All of Miklan’s life already, he’s been something of a butterfly in a display case with more and more pins being produced to stick in him, keep him stationary; merely trying to undo the shit his parents did to him feels like yanking him out, shredded wings and all as the pins keep their hold.

This is a fun thing that can be blamed on Miklan. It’s as close to an actual offense as Christophe can find since ‘ _stealing my heart_ ’ doesn’t quite yet qualify, but maybe its a thing he can say relatively soon. If nothing else, they’ve got the same terrible sense of humor, evidenced by when Miklan lets the statement die but Chris? Chris makes a scene of groping around the bed before pinching Miklan in his side, jokingly feeling at his ass beneath the covers.

“Here, lemme just do a third cavity check in case I missed it the first two times.”

Christophe snickers. Oh, this its too much power. This is dangerous. Miklan’s really done it now. Sticking his tongue out, Christophe ejects himself from the bed before Miklan can hope to strike back and then him and his entire naked ass looks for his coat. It’s on the floor, somewhere. 

There. Skeketal frame bending as he rummages, Christophe locates his nicer one, the Zippo and suddenly he’s absorbed by the sight of his fingers. Christophe remembers then, suddenly. _Right. I need to take care of these._ God, they look worse, what with all of his tips in various states of healing, with some a rusty black at the tips while others are a weird bone white, the print gone and the pad healed over with a scar tissue. Ugly. _Ugly._

Christophe slides this jacket on again and by god is it too hot, does it stick to his skin and feel terrible and just… unpleasant. The man looks overheated as shit and he doesn’t even have underwear on when he slips back into the bed. Hiding his hands so far down his sleeves that he risks nearly setting fire to the damn thing as he lights his cigarette, Christophe turns to Miklan and says, “here,” holding his cig out between two lips, like usual.

“No. No, no, no. _You_ …”

Miklan can tell exactly what Christophe is about to do before it even occurs, but he’s powerless to stop it. It makes him yell just as it would if he’d been caught off guard, and a hairy leg is kicked out instinctively (but not quite fast enough) in Christophe’s general direction. The _dirtiest_ look imaginable is shot his way all the while, bordering on a sneer. Bastard.

He makes a mental note to get back at him later, somehow, because sweet as he was only a few minutes prior in a rare moment of tenderness, nobody’s ever said Miklan wasn’t petty. He thrives upon acts of being able to get his own back, though even that he finds that occurring less and less as of late. Maybe he’s losing his touch. Maybe he’s getting old. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s getting… better. Not fixed, never fixed, but no longer brimming with anger and unspoken ailments with every waking hour, the desire to get some sort of revenge nagging at the back of his mind all the while.

This is way too deep of a thought process in response to having his ass pinched by bony fingers.

“Put some underwear on before I go blind,” Miklan chides, dramatically draping his arm over his eyes as though the sight of Christophe’s bare ass is somehow an affront to his very existence. Like he didn’t have his hands all over it earlier. The man slips back into bed and Miklan once again places the cigarette between his lips, leaning forward until the embers catch and the end is alight. There we go. He sits back, satisfied.

Still, for all his contentment, it strikes him as odd that Christophe insisted on shrugging the coat back on, given the blankets would have been more than enough to subside any chill in the room - not that there’s particularly one to begin with. It feels like a sauna in here, though perhaps it being steamy is appropriate given the circumstances. He leans over to retrieve an ash tray from the bedside table, setting it atop the mattress between them when he says, “Aren’t you hot?”

Christophe doesn’t have the forethought to hang tight to that kind of sweetness. He’ll be stunned speechless when Miklan shows it, the gentleness, the way he can become soft, but Christophe lacks the presence of mind to preserve it just yet. He’s always been a poker and a prodder- a _jokester_ if you will. Christophe can’t help it.

For all of Miklan’s leg kicking and griping, there’s a tenderness restored to the moment as their cigarette tips brush. Christophe can’t lie and say that this habit hadn’t started in his teens, back when that was the closest he could get to Miklan’s lips without hurting someone. The glow between their faces is lovely and warm, and mumbling to himself, Christophe goes, “wow we touched tips, guess that means we’re gay.”

Miklan you can kick him from the bed, it’d be warranted.

“You told me to put clothes on,” Christophe says in a brave paraphrasing of what Miklan actually said. He won’t address if he’s hot, because he is. God, he is. He’s a dude meant for winter weather and being toasty is terrible. He is actually broiling under this thing and it’s no wonder considering the room is a furnace and rolling over with _sex fog_.

Shrugging, Chris flicks his cigarette into the ash tray, though his fingers are way under the coat so he just kinda… fucks up the motion and gets ash everywhere on the bed. That’s fine. They’re done fucking so Christophe guesses he isnt anxious about being a mess in front of Miklan again.

“Shut _up_ ,” is Miklan’s initial gut reaction, recoiling to take a drag away from Christophe’s face. He blows the smoke towards him from the corner of his mouth. “It’s not gay if you don’t make eye contact.” Or some other bullshit variant. Not gay if it’s on the moon, not gay if you aren’t holding hands. Who even came up with that shit? Fanciful ways of saying _no homo_.

“I told you to put underwear on.” Miklan corrects, tapping away excess ash far neater than Christophe has been doing. “So you could stop flashing cheek at me.” He’s still sore about not being able to get him back. Maybe for the best, though, because a well aimed slap to the ass might’ve sent him flying across the room with all the grace and ease of a paper ball. He ought to be testy about Christophe being avoidant, but it’s not exactly a foreign concept (not to mention Miklan would be a horrendous hypocrite if he tried). Even if Chris is a terrible liar, that doesn’t mean he can’t skirt around the truth and emit details. 

He scratches at his jaw with his free hand, pausing at the beginnings of stubble. Ugh. He’s hit with the overwhelming desire to _bathe_ , but he can’t exactly do that here. Somehow he doubts the shower is particularly satisfying. “Whatever.”

“Oh, is it taunting you?” Christophe jokes, wondering if Miklan is peeved over ending up on the bottom or something.

Really, Chris wouldn’t blame him. Whatever kind of bait and switch hustle that happened tonight wasn’t planned but it sure would be funny if Christophe feigned one way for all his life only to shock the shit out of…

Oh god, his brain supplied ‘ _his boyfriend_ ’ and Christophe almost chokes on smoke. That’s… is that what they are now? No, they just fucked. Don’t get stupid. …But, surely this meant more than that. Maybe. Christophe is having so many thoughts right now he wished he weren’t having.

As a result, he’s more or less zoning out now, zombified until Miklan mutters, “ _whatever,_ ” and then Christophe’s fearful all of a sudden that he doesn’t know where they are.

Spooky. Human relationships. The spookiest thing. Happy Halloween.

“Hey,” Christophe says, throat dry, and he can’t word what he wants to say. _Was this okay? Are you okay? What did this mean for you? …Do you feel like leaving now? Was this just for fun or… do you feel like you might…_

Christophe’s jaw hangs and he fumbles on the invisible noises he can’t quite make. Careful to not burn Mik, Christophe transfers his cigarette from mouth, to hand, to the ashtray to sit. He scrubs it out and then wraps his arms all over him, breathing in deep, silently.

God, maybe it’s a damn good thing that Miklan hadn’t just come over to fuck and leave. Maybe this is how Christophe would’ve reacted either way. Maybe at least it’s not so clingy and weird now that _feelings_ have been talked about.

Whatever. _Whatever_. Christophe snuggles into him _instead_ of smoking, and that’s really just _whatever_.

The mortifying ordeal of being known: trick, or treat?

Miklan neglects to respond to the question of taunting, if only because the answer to that is complicated. Odd as this all is, he’s not exactly _plagued_ by the experience. That was new and unexpected, but it was also damn exhilarating. 

For all his grumbling, he feels significantly less tense than he did before he walked through the door, that’s for sure.

Christophe utters something that Miklan can’t quite catch, and the other is on him before he can ask him to speak up once again to finish the train of thought. He’s careful to hold the cigarette out of the way to avoid dropping ash all over him… In the end, he has no choice but to stub it out after near enough gunning the entire thing with a practiced nonchalance. Setting the bed ablaze isn’t the ideal way to end a good evening, as oddly on brand as it’d be for them to manage such a feat. 

He’s staring up at the foot of the bed when he wraps his arms around him in turn, reluctantly at first, then with firmness. He can tell there’s an elephant in the room, but his thoughts are too scattered to pick apart the billions of potentials and analyse finer details. It feels like he’s on the phone to Christophe at the laundromat again, connected but not fully present.

Miklan’s playing with the hood of Christophe’s jacket when he says without his usual bite, “What’s on your mind?”

It isn’t… altogether unpleasant, how he feels now. It’s only a little scary, how his heart has started to pound. Everything leading up to them coming together was littered with such tension and under that temperature they’d both become softer, cautious, careful. Wasn’t long ago that Christophe was kissing him all over and telling him in every phrasing short of the four letter word how wonderful he is to be around.

And now… in the afterglow, Christophe is holding his breath like waiting for a shoe to drop, like waiting for something bad to happen and it’s just because really, nothing good happens to Christophe. Not anymore. He has no desire to connect thought to mouth until Miklan’s arms are around him, and even then, he doesn’t say a whole lot.

“You,” and it’s good, really. But… it’s not as if he sounds particularly pleased. Just… emotional. Probably not wonderful to hear, Christophe thinks in passing. Problem is, he can’t lie. He wishes he could but it takes such effort and makes him feel worse than he should when it’s about things that matter.

Maybe it’s in poor taste. Maybe it ruins the calm. Christophe curls up sort of, making his face wholly invisible as he drowns it in Miklan’s many scars and tattoos, and maybe he says, “just scared of how much I want you.”

Despite the nature of the reply, Miklan notes that Christophe sounds far from happy. It’s a drastic difference from earlier, the atmosphere electric and words of pent up affection leaving their lips between kisses and quiet noises of approval. If Miklan wasn’t nervous before, he certainly is now; the quiet sort of nervous that sits in the pit of your stomach and eats at you from the inside out. It makes him wonder if he’s fucked this up somehow in the same way that he manages to fuck up everything else that happens to come his way.

Even with the unpleasant, self depreciating thoughts, Christophe further cuddling up to him is a welcome comfort, however momentary. For awhile, Miklan simply lays there as he thinks on the words muttered against his skin. What part of wanting is it that Christophe is scared of? Is it the man himself? The commitment? The feelings as a whole? Now that the concerns are out there and hanging in the air, he can’t help but to dwell on them in turn. It makes him frown, half in thought, half out of concern. 

He comes to the conclusion that he’s scared, too. Of _what_ , he isn’t sure. Maybe it’s the idea of baring himself to someone beyond acts of service for a night, because calling someone _his_ (and being called someone else’s in turn) is a concept that he almost can’t fathom. Part of him wants it. Another feels a vague sense of betrayal, like after everything he’s been through and everything he’s put others through, resigning himself to a lifetime of being single is the only appropriate course of action. It’s punishment. It’s repentance. It’s _whatever_ , to echo an earlier sentiment.

They’re fucking terrified, albeit for different reasons… but if they’re together, will it really be so bad?

His head dips to rest his cheek against Christophe’s hair, eyes sliding shut. “Don’t,” is all he says. He’s pulling him closer. _Don’t be scared_ and _Don’t want me_ wrestle in his brain. “We’ll figure it out.”

If you ask Chris, fucking is so easy. Fucking is like breathing. He’s just the ghost of a man that’s subsisted on the skin of strangers for nine years to take the place of love in his shoddy little heart. It’s a decrepit, unused thing at this point. It’s like car that’s been sat out too long without being started once in a while. It coughs and sputters when it tries to turn on, and the worst part is that he’s painfully aware of that.

He can tell himself that it’s easy to love Miklan, because Miklan is loveable and Miklan deserves it. Christophe can give him everything when he’s never wanted to give to anyone else. Christophe can please him, do whatever to make him feel loved because he’s the only one deserving of that from him. It’s a spade to the face when Christophe realizes the hard part’s accepting love in return. It’s fearful, wondering if the person beside you thought you were good. Christophe often doesn’t give a shit. It’s _worse_ pondering if they love you, what that could mean, what you’re expected to give in return.

It flashes through Christophe’s mind: _if I come on too strong, I’m going to scare the shit out of him_. And maybe that’s true, but he wouldn’t know. The fright is setting in before anything’s even happened. The sex is over and whatever air of romanticism and fated longing that was once present has faded. All that’s left now is the logic. The logic and the uncertainty.

And the knowledge that if he tries to return to loneliness again after this, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. And the repeating thought, _how the fuck did I not realize I felt like this?_ When Miklan pulls him closer, ushering him toward a vague sense of security, Christophe sucks in a breath. This fucking coat is making him sweat and he’s shivering under it.

“I didn’t know it was like this,” he utters blankly, unclear until more words fall out like a bag of rice with a slit in the bottom. On, and on—”I didn’t know I felt as strongly as I do. I think I was questioning how I felt, I was confused but not sure. I wanted to… be close with you like this. I wanted to feel something. I wanted someone near me but I’ve wanted that for years. This couldn’t be much different. This couldn’t—”

Christophe’s body jolts. A hiccup? His forehead is plastered to Miklan’s chest.

“I’m sorry. It’s just been so long… I don’t mean to be like this. You just mean so much to me.” When Christophe hangs onto Miklan, he does so with his whole hand. He’s long since lost sensation in his fingertips. They transfer nothing to him when he rubs them against scar and skin. Instead he does this sort of… probably strange movement with his palm, just squeezing and massaging the skin underneath. Christophe tears a hole into his own lip.

“You can do whatever you want,” he lies, for some fucking reason, as if he isn’t in the middle of a plea. “I’m sorry.” For what? For _feeling?_ For loving someone?

For being a mess, like always. Is he crying?

Things aren’t any clearer in Miklan’s head than they were five minutes ago, but hearing Christophe speak so openly and with such raw honesty is enough to keep the gears inside of his head in motion. He wants to figure this out - wants to figure where Christophe stands, where _he_ stands all the more so, even if this is a thousand shades of confusing and just as many shades frustrating. Right now he’s annoyed at his own comprehension skills (or lack of thereof), because it’s times like these, where people are so _open_ , that the emotional stunting and inexperience occurring within is particularly glaring. He feels like an old computer lagging a few seconds behind newer models. He wants to slap himself upside the head, hit refresh so he can approach this with a brain that isn’t foggy and tarnished by years of repression and bad experiences. 

_I’m sorry_. Before Miklan can get anything else out to address the rest, he urges, “Stop apologizing to me.” He’s not angry, nor does he sound irritated, but he hates it. There’s a lot of things they have to be sorry for between them; honesty and _feeling_ aren’t included in that, because Sothis knows emotions have been on the backburner for the best part of nine years and more. 

Christophe palms at his chest and Miklan rests a hand over the back of Christophe’s own as he mulls everything over, secure and unfazed against sharp knuckles and patches of scar tissue.

“What I _want_ is to be here.” And he does, despite the confusion elsewhere. Miklan is a no nonsense sort of person; even with those he fucks, kindly as he treats them at the time, they’re ushered out of his apartment at the soonest possible convenience so he can go back to enjoying his own company. The thought of people in his personal space makes his skin crawl and puts him on edge. He’s not the sort to keep partners around out of sentimentality, in other words - but here, in the moment? He’s content. That in itself is a sign that something about Chris is _different_ , whether he’s brave enough to put a name to it or not.

“I know I don’t fucking act like it a lot of the time with how much I give you grief, but. You’re important. I’ve known you for years now, I’m not about to up and leave any time soon.” He’s pressing a kiss to the top of Christophe’s head, careful to avoid the bounce of the occasional hiccup. 

“I’m gonna be real honest and say I don’t know what I’m doing. When do I ever.” It’s an attempt at humor, though he sounds nervous. Sincerity is difficult. “Just… trust me when I say that you make life a lot less stressful. I want you around for as long as you can bear the sight of my mug, because you’re important to me too.”

The apologies are haphazard, spit up in anxiety but meant all the same. How ugly of him, he thinks, to just go sappy and soggy in the face within thirty minutes of damn good sex. It’s unfair, how good the sex was, and how awful he feels now. It’s almost as if it’s directly proportional, like the better Christophe feels the worse he fears losing it all. It seems to be a trend between them, though: telling one another to stop apologizing. He almost can’t help it, or he just doesn’t want to. In every way that Christophe can’t look him in the eyes, can’t stop from shaking, can’t speak without a stumble, Christophe walks and talks like an apology.

He just shakes his head into Miklan’s collarbone.

And then—” _ah!_ ” Christophe fails to repress an instinctual, perfunctory shudder, a gasp as Miklan touches his hand to his. They have before, just… not with the bandages off. Not purely skin to skin. Not while they’re open to the air like this. He wallows in those words, that Miklan wants to be here. Christophe drinks them all down and finds he’s only hungry for more. Biting the corner of an incisor into his tongue, Christophe muffles another sound, just something of a whine he’s humiliated over making.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” he remarks, honestly. “I want you here, I want you so much I…” God, he’s just babbling now. Pathetic of him to put Miklan through this. Christophe hates it. Hates the shit coming out of his face, hates how he can’t stop himself from saying, “I love the sight of your face, it’s the only one I’ve wanted since…” _forever_.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

“I—I like you a lot.” And of course, Christophe knows there’s a stronger word for what he means, but he’ll die if he has to say it. And more than that, Miklan will die if he has to hear it, die if he has to feel burdened to say it back. Christophe will die if he does not, and die if he does.

There’s no answer that will please him. So this is safe, and Christophe needs safe.

Despite the fact it stuns him into periods of silence, Miklan isn’t uncomfortable nor angered by what Christophe is saying. Why would he be? They’re sweet words spoken from a weary heart, which is more than he thought he’d ever hear again after having resigned himself to loneliness a long time ago. The two of them are stuck in some odd limbo of simultaneously wanting to be loved whilst being too scared of the during and after required to get there. It’d be pathetic, really, if it weren’t outright miserable, a window into just how messy the years have made them.

If _anything_ bothers him, it’s his own thought process. He wishes he could have things figured out for both of their sake. This feels like some weird form of self sabotage, like he’s purposefully holding himself back from something that’s _right there_ , and he can only pray Christophe will still be present by the time he navigates the bullshit floating about his skull.

The flinch makes his fingers twitch cautiously, momentarily concerned he’s done something wrong. When no complaint comes, no words of protest, they relax once more, smoothing over the back of his hand, moving back to idly trace small circles. His touch is feather light, a world away from the brutish visage and strength he possesses.

“Then we’re in the same boat,” he exhales in place of a laugh to avoid getting a mouthful of hair. “And we can figure it out. Together. If you’ll do that for me, because everybody knows I won’t be able to by myself.” It’s an inadvertent plea; _I want you here just as much._

He listens to the sound of Christophe breathing, finds himself subconsciously following along. When he speaks again, his tone is quieter, sincere. “You really do mean the world to me. I can’t even begin to tell you. You make me… want to keep doing better. To do right by you.” Strange how the only two people in the world right now who believe in Miklan most are the two he expected it from least. It’s a privilege he doesn’t deserve, but one he’s holding onto like a lifeline all the same. “You deserve that. I love seeing you happy, making you laugh. It’s a damn treat.”

_Because I love you, and I want the best for you._

The thought occurs to Christophe, that maybe the reason they fit so well now is because they’re exactly what one another needs right now. Miklan’s holding him carefully, tenderly, insisting that they can do this together and Christophe can’t help but wonder if really this was destined to be. It’s a disgusting thought, considering every horrible thing they’ve been through, but some part of Chris feels thankful. Maybe they deserve each other. Maybe they deserve a droplet of happiness. Maybe it’s okay to say that. Maybe when Miklan imparts to him that he loves that happiness, loves making him laugh, Christophe’s lungs feel fit to bursting, feel full of New Year’s sparklers that glitter and flood his mouth with things he can’t say.

The touch of Miklan’s hand against his is almost unbearable. Christophe’s gone slack against Miklan, but his hand still holds fast to him, tensing and unclenching as though he can’t decide if he likes the sensation or not. His breath stutters and snags on the feeling. “ _Be careful there_ ,” he whispers, more out of the side of his mouth than as anything worth responding to. Christophe doesn’t mean _stop_ , he just means… _this is special, this is different, this is something that no one else does_.

And he shuts close his eyes, discovering swiftly that the more Miklan talks, the more comforted he is. It might not be very fair, considering Miklan’s not a many of many words of this variety, but it helps so much. His tears have subsided. Christophe is still melting beneath this fucking coat but Miklan’s voice could put him to sleep. No one’s ever spoken these things to him before, told him that he’s meant anything to them, much less ‘the world.’ Such a lofty notion. No one’s really been fond of his nigh operatic hyena laugh. No one’s wanted to make him happy.

Okay, maybe he does cry a _little_ bit more, but it’s the silent kind. It’s the happier kind. It’s where Christophe acknowledges that things can get better from here, that they both can become better, that they both can share in this life and this feeling and it doesn’t have to be so scary.

And having that definition feels worlds better than having a word for it right now. “Thank you,” he says sotto voce. That’s all he can say, is thank you.


	22. if they at wal-mart together they FUCKING RAW!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Miklan and Christophe have hooked up, Miklan decides to take a trip out to the local Wal-Mart to buy Christophe some groceries and some well needed supplies.
> 
> They do some penguin waddling and have a weird run-in with a cashier.

So. It’s relatively late when the two finally leave the motel room in Miklan’s crappy car, heading towards whatever supermarket is closest (and open. That’s crucial). Miklan both can and can’t believe that he’s spent almost the entire day there, soaking up Christophe’s presence and exploring more of one another than they’d both care to admit, physically and emotionally. The most startling development of all is that Miklan _didn’t_ try to kill him at any point throughout… or that Chris didn’t try to feed him anything weird, what with how often he promises he’s going to do just that. Perhaps that’s why he’d insisted on dragging Chris out in the end, determined to get the man some goddamn shampoo and something decent to stock up the mini fridge with. 

It comes from a place of love, or something. Because green chicken tainted with froot loops is _not_ one of your five a day, shockingly enough. 

Miklan’s hair is still damp from the shower, so he’s got the window rolled down in an attempt to air dry it somewhat. The breeze feels good against his face and he’s in considerably higher spirits than he was the last time they shared a car ride together. “I’m still finding fucking rice in here,” he says, squinting at himself in the rear view mirror. “Never did hear anything about it, though. Reckon we got away with it.”

Miklan is still here, astoundingly. All of the nagging fears scraping at the back of Christophe’s head would’ve had him convinced otherwise, but there’s something warm about his presence—it’s chosen and it’s wanted and it drives a litter of various smiles of depending degrees into the plump of his cheeks. Chris has always had that type of face: the heart-shaped kind that looks ever the more perfect when he’s really beaming. Miklan gets a front row view to it this morning.

Now that they’re making their first venture out since they’d come together for this… visit of sorts, this linking of their fingers and hearts, Christophe is twirling his bangs and watching as they continually drip from his crown, turning his white wifebeater a greyer, more transparent color that he hides away with his great big coat. It’s damn cold but the right kind. It’s the kind that feels pleasant on his face.

Hair tie tucked away in his mouth, Christophe is pulling his frontward bangs back into a lazy ponytail once more, keeping the strands free from his face. Christophe tightens the grip, nodding, speaking with a level of business man nonchalance as he says: “then have some fucking rice, then.”

In fact… Christophe plucks a single grain for the floor and murmurs in a faux _Olde English_ accent, “ _dost thou wish to live deliciously?_ ”

And then he fucking eats it. _Ugh_. Miklan, you put your mouth there. How do you feel about that? Think it over while Christophe decides what garbage he wants to play for you.

Miklan can see what the hell Chris is doing from the corner of his eye, which makes his face scrunch up into what can only be described as the stages of grief in the span of a few seconds; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance (in moderation). He’s not happy about it, but it’s not like there’s much he can do as is. Christophe Gaspard, you’re safe - for now. 

“You’re lucky I’m driving, because I would beat your ass if my hands were free.” Miklan has to raise his voice against the wind. Bonding from earlier be damned. He doesn’t want to tarnish a good memory over the fact that Christophe’s lips were against his and have also been against stale floor food, but the gut disgust he felt is vaguely similar to seeing someone let their dog lick them on the mouth. The indirect froot loops chicken, the indirect cigereal, the indirect nuclear pizza… it’s too much.

And his feelings _still_ aren’t any different. My god, Miklan, you really know how to pick your men. Despite what he said earlier, he does rake one hand through his hair. And then thwack Christophe on the shoulder, though he doubts it does any damage against the padding of the coat. 

“I’m buying you fucking normal food when we get there,” he urges. It’s not negotiable. “And shampoo and conditioner.” And a whole other grocery list of things, because Christophe’s motel room stresses him out at the best of times, let alone after their earlier bonding. He feels an unspoken responsibility. _Nobody would let their boyfriend live like that_ , except he strangles the thought with swiftness.

Christophe takes to snickering in the low way that he does deep in his throat. It’s the kind of subdued noise he makes when he’s _not_ howling. Those seem to be his two settings and two settings alone—chuckling inaudibly or shrieklaughing stupid. Ough god, if he’s being honest though, that grain of rice was hard and disgusting, and it’s pretty hard to be disgusting when you’re as small as a single grain of rice.

“Get telekinetic, weak bitch,” Christophe says before he’s whacked in the shoulder, and he grins something silly because, really, maybe it had started like this long ago: Chris being ridiculous just so Mik would have an excuse to swing at him, put his hands on him. It shouldn’t be so but Christophe would be lying if he said even being jokingly smacked wasn’t wonderful and fun. It’s the only way he’s been able to have Miklan’s hands on him for twenty long years. It’ll never get old.

Problem is that Christophe doesn’t buy _abnormal_ food. He just butchers and annihilates the food that he _does_ get, turning it into Frankenstein’s Monster. “Conditioner tastes horrible, though,” jokes Christophe dryly.

Then he connects to the aux cord and within seconds of putting on BYOB by System of a Down, begins to go full zoo animal. Headbanging, kicking his heels, beating the roof with his fists. _Complete creature mode._

“See, the scary thing is that I can’t tell if you’re joking, because you fuckin’ would eat conditioner.” There’s not many things in Miklan’s mind that he _can’t_ picture Christophe consuming, as much as it agonizes him to admit. He’s always been like that - always been willing to shovel garbage into his mouth, whether for a laugh or out of a general lack of caring what the consequences may be. Hair care products aren’t that big of a step away from eating glitter glue, which he can remember Christophe scooping up with perfect clarity. He shudders.

Then music starts up and Miklan keeps his trap shut from there on out. He knows there’s no point in trying to talk to Christophe when he’s going absolutely apeshit in the passenger seat like a man possessed (not that Christophe would even be able to hear him if he did). He’s not bothered, though. _This_ music he can do. It’s a big fucking improvement from singing about Santa pussy. 

Admittedly, there’s something pretty fucking hilarious about the charged nature of the song paired with how mundane the journey is. 

_Where the fuck are you?_ says System of a Down. _Going to Walmart._

Their younger selves would be both embarrassed and horrified by the reality of adulthood, that much he’s certain of. Miklan keeps driving.

Of course Christophe was joking. Sure, he ate weird shit as a kid but so did every kid. He’s seen Miklan’s brother toss back rocks. All kids grow out of that shit eventually… unless they’ve got pica, but Christophe is certain he doesn’t have that. Unless it were to explain how it is that he’s able to imbibe droves upon droves of seemingly inedible meals. Christophe has always had a particularly strong stomach, though. Chalk it up to daddy Lonato being inattentive at times, albeit better definitely once Ashe came around.

In that regard, Chris’s circumstance was polar opposite that of Mik’s: Sylvain brought about negative change in his family, while Ashe and the others brought a positive change to Christophe’s. Sort of an eye-opening thing, taking them in. The house grew in number and so too in love.

…anyways, Christophe doesn’t want to think about that right now. He’s drumming his hands all over everything in lieu of having a real drum set to freak it on here in the car.

Music like this is emblematic of how Christophe feels about himself on a deeper level. He’s always had a propensity to project what he can’t show on his face through what he can put on his body, what he can blare, beat into a school desk, you name it. Christophe still had that anarchist at heart, screaming about war and police brutality and the suffering of the lower class and various other issues. Instead of… doing much about it, though, having forfeited that right, he takes to screaming instead in silence.

Or in Miklan’s car.

Christophe reaches for his pack of cigarettes only to find there’s only one left, and his blood pressure skyrockets. “Please tell me we’re almost there,” he says loudly, blandly over the sounds of System of a Down frontman Serj Tankian screaming.

“Nope. Miles away,” he says flatly. You know, like a bastard. 

Except he’s just pulling Christophe’s leg, because there’s a sign not too far ahead that confirms they’re practically _there_ , and they’re turning into the (mostly) deserted parking lot soon after to snag a spot relatively close to the entrance. Miklan is absolutely the guy who isn’t about to walk any further than he has to from the parking space to the store itself, so it’s just as well they showed up at a time that no other fucker is there, giving them first pick.

Really, the only people who shop at night are weirdos. Yes, he’s aware that includes them. No, he doesn’t want to talk about it. At least there wont be screaming families running around. _Score_.

Miklan doesn’t consider himself a socially anxious person by any means, but something about busy stores always put him on edge. He feels as though people are staring, _judging_ , and he can’t count on his fingers the number of times he’s had to leave mid shop because someone managed to rub him up the wrong way by virtue of simply existing. It’s not hard to envision Miklan getting into a fight with someone because they bumped him one too many times with the cart, or because there’s a fucking unidentified item in the fucking bagging area. Fuck shopping.

Once settled and out of the car, Miklan raises his arms above his head to stretch until the joints pop. Nice. “If you’re gonna smoke before we go in, be quick.” Not that he even has to say anything. Chris can smoke a cigarette faster than Miklan can inhale and exhale, a feat of which he’s witnessed on numerous occasions. It’d be impressive… if Christophe immediately swallowing the remainders didn’t dash any sense of awe, anyway.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans—like an actually affected, agitated groan. This is because Christophe cannot see any of the signs from how low in the seat he is. This is remedied by the fact that he gets anxious and sits up. Taking in the surroundings, Christophe sighs and rolls his eyes in vacant annoyance, something that Chris doesn’t often get with Miklan. Typically it’s he other way around.

The emotion lasts but two seconds, because Christophe’s not the fussy type if not for two things: his invisibility and his cigarettes. Christophe’s a bitchy, selfish, angry person specifically only and _only_ when he doesn’t have cigarettes. It’s more than a comfort item at this point or a nicotine habit. It’s a psychological thing. Having only one left, he’s not sure whether it’d make him more or less stressed to blow the last one.

_It’s fine, I’m buying more_. Yeah, with what money? He thinks to himself. Miklan wouldn’t let him go without getting him a carton or two. Of course not. Never. Christophe’s knee is bouncing. Duh.

Miklan’s comment comes way after Christophe’s decided to shove the cigarette in his face and the more that he inhales, the shorter he gets. That is to say, his muscles untense and he loosens up, slouching like he usually does and untensing his clenched up fists.

His hands are now, of course, bandaged up right. Maybe a little overdone, actually. Typically just his fingertips and a few odd spots get a bandaid. Feeling worse and worse about them as of today, they’re covered wrist to tip like a mummy, and Christophe thinks to himself that there’s no reason to _not just eat a no-filter, as if that’s what makes the most sense to him, except that he’s now concerned over whether Miklan would wanna kiss him or not after that._

__

__

_There you go, thinking this is gonna be a regular thing, again._ Christophe pulls a face and drops the remainder of his cigarette, stomping it out and then marching a bit haggardly up to the door. _Want cigarettes. Want to feel normal. Want to not be anxious._ March march march.

At night, typically a Walmart will have one set of sliding doors still open while they close down the other entrance. Christophe should know this. Christophe is staring at the ground. Christophe walks like a pigeon into the fucking glass door.

If Miklan had noticed Christophe making a beeline for the door, maybe he would have intervened. Tugged on his coat. Called out to him. Grabbed him by the elbow and steered him away whilst calling him an airhead. _Anything_. But Miklan doesn’t on account of being too busy collecting a stray cart for the copious amounts of crap they’re inevitably going to buy, eyes cast downward as he kicks at a bum wheel… until he hears a dull _thud_ and a smear that can only be described as some-idiot-absolutely-just-walked-into-glass, that is.

It’s Chris. Of course.

He stops in his tracks momentarily to stare, dumbfounded. Two feelings flash through his mind in the seconds that follow: concern, and amusement.

In the end, it’s clear what wins, because he walks past him and through the functional door with a genuine snicker and a barely suppressed grin. Poor guy. Miklan can at least take solace in the fact he isn’t seriously hurt, because of all the roles he’s been made to play today, he’s not entirely sure he’s willing to add _nurse_ on top of that. Just as well, too - his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Miklan’s more of a ‘spills soup in your lap and hauls your sick ass around like a sack of potatoes’ than a ‘feeds you tenderly and tucks you in to get a good night’s rest’ type. 

Whilst he doesn’t stop outright, he does slow down a little to make sure Christophe has enough time to catch up before he sets off in search of the first few items on his mental list. He’s just kind of standing on the entrance mat and idly sliding his hands over the handle of the cart.

Christophe wobbles about, much like a slice of laminated paper being shook about in the teacher’s lounge by some dumb kid. He warbles with just about as much coherence before he gathers himself again, just in time to spot Miklan _snickering_ at his misfortune and marching along proudly. Like _oh, look at me, I’m Miklan Gautier and I don’t walk into doors._ Like no, dickhead, you just put holes in drywall. Totally different levels of stupidity.

Snorting, Christophe jerks his hood up over his head and follows behind, mummified hands shoved into his parka pockets. “We’re off to a good start,” he mumbles, not sure if at Miklan or at himself. Christophe more or less hovers beside him, not good at shopping and not a fan of it either. Really, the only things that Christophe buys are the things he can’t steal, but he’s not about to say that. He can’t tell if Miklan would assume that of him or would berate him for the stupidity of trying to steal knowing what even a single arrest would mean for Chris.

They dined and dashed not too long ago, so Miklan _has_ to know that he’s still up to shit. Chris just isn’t going to make it conversation.

Laid out in the front of the Walmart are the few store staples: seasonal shit is laid out right in front. There’s signs with “Thanksgiving Checklists” and more boxes of premade stuffing than Christophe’s ever seen all at once. Christophe flattens his mouth. He doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, so he directs his eyes toward the deli and produce. The deli itself is closed, obviously, and lingering nearby the product section is that awkward little box of flowers. You know the one. The stand that carries bouquets for the giving to a friend or lover.

Christophe feels put on the spot and awkward for even looking at it. Can he go two seconds without being paranoid about whatever this is, _please?_

He grabs a box of stuffing. “Here,” he says, tossing it into the cart loudly. “Shit’s good.” Chris is sweating. He’s gotta get outta here.

Miklan raises a brow at the clang of whatever’s been thrown into the cart. Stuffing? Oh. Right. Thanksgiving is a thing. He hasn’t celebrated that since he was back at home, because of _course_ his parents went along with anything that made them look like a morally upstanding, picturesque nuclear family. There’s vague memories of shared dinners with neighboring households, of him and Glenn flicking sprouts at one another from across the table, of him and Sylvain teaming up for one night and one night _only_ to raid the good leftovers in the fridge before everyone else woke up. Something about you and your kid brother scraping a macaroni dish clean with your hands in the kitchen at 2am really hits different.

If he misses anything from home, it’s that sense of cohesiveness. Togetherness. What’s worse; bad company, or no company at all?

“Shit is good.” He agrees, albeit a little delayed. Walmart really isn’t the place to be reminiscing. 

He knows in his head exactly what he needs to buy, except Miklan is a weak man and he’s swayed by the rack of discount candy. He actually goes to walk past it, like he’s someone with self restraint… and then immediately and quite literally backtracks so that he can grab two of those fun packs. One each, baby. Why not share _one_ bag? Because that’s no fun, obviously. Miklan really has the urge to crunch on some lollipops. Sharing with Christophe doesn’t come into that equation, though he’ll wish it did when he’s nursing sugar induced nausea later on.

“I’m gonna go nuts on this later,” he says with a hilarious sort of nonchalance that leaves no room for objection. Then level headed Miklan kicks back in, and he’s glancing away from the seasonal aisle and in the direction of the health aisle. “Do you need anything?” 

Not that he even bothers to wait for a response.

Miklan leaves the cart with Chris to trudge off, returning a short while later with painkillers, band-aids, and a couple packs of fresh gauze. He’s absolutely noticed how tightly Christophe’s hands are bandaged, though he neglects to comment.

Man, Christophe wants to stop being on edge already. He’s telling himself it’s because of the cigarettes and not the constant looming threat of abandonment that’s moments away from smothering him at a moments notice, but really, Christophe has about a million things wrong. This is just one of them. At least Miklan’s backtracking gets a snort out of him, laughter spilling out as each one of his giant hands chokeholds a bag and tosses it into the cart.

“On both of them?” Christophe murmurs, considering he has candy at home. He doesn’t think Miklan is buying _him_ anything but the essentials. Not like Miklan answers, asking a question of his own and then traipsing off to go grab whatever the fuck it is he was thinking that Christophe needed. Seeing the direction of where he’s going, Christophe makes an assumption: shampoo and body wash. Maybe one of those scrubby things.

Miklan is off on his adventure while Christophe stands still with the cart, like when your dad has you stand in line while he runs off to grab one last thing. The sense of urgency isn’t there but still, Christophe just sorta… tries to think of something he should grab or go get while Miklan does this… errand. 

So, of course, he wanders into the produce section, then rounds the corner and finds himself with the desserts and the sweets and the breads and… Christophe’s mouth is watering. God. There’s a bag of mini chocolate donuts. He doesn’t even think twice before he’s got his bony little fingers on them. Yeah, right in the middle of the store like a freak, he’s eating them. What the fuck was he supposed to be doing?

Miklan returns to an empty cart, vacant of a Christophe Gaspard while the man is clouding up his mouth and bandaged fingers with chocolate and trotting down the frozen food aisle. Some fucking Uncrustables sound good as _shit._

Miklan gets half way back to where the cart is before it hits him that he forgot what he fucking _came here for_ , at which point he’s turning on his heel with a groan like a stroppy teenager to go back and get the damn things. 

He’s haphazardly balancing medical supplies and a handful of beauty products (yes, he grabbed a scrubby thing) when he returns only to realize that Christophe is… gone. About a million different possibilities run through his head, none of which are pleasant nor rational. He feels hot, he feels pissed, because Christophe ran off on him, didn’t he? He understands the urge to flee all too well, but he didn’t think that’d happen here. Not with Miklan around. He was gone for a few minutes at _best_ , nor is the shop crowded enough to warrant ducking away from people in a hurry. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a sense of betrayal.

The stuff in is arms is dumped into the cart with a clang, at which point he’s stomping off. _Fucking Chris. I ask you to wait for two seconds and you can’t even manage that. Where the hell did you go? Back to the car? Outside? To hide in the bathrooms? To-_

Oh. There he is. Miklan almost wheels right past the aisle, though he skids to a halt when he catches sight of a familiar figure clad in green skulking along and stuffing his face with donuts. The relief that washes over him is momentary. Then, he’s back to being irked. He feels embarrassed for having assumed the worst, nor does he understand why the thought of being abandoned by Christophe filled him with hurt. Sneaking up behind, Miklan bumps Chris on the ass with the cart when he’s close enough. “What,” and again, “is,” and again, “your,” aaand _again_ , “problem? I told you to wait!” It’s times like these, brows furrowed, lips pursed, and gaze sharp, that Miklan is eerily similar to his mother (minus the inclination to start popping off in another language). He’s even tapping his foot. 

“…What are you even doing?” It’d be one thing if Christophe was eating them by the desserts. That makes sense. But he’s in the damn frozen food aisle.

Christophe is fully intending on paying for these donuts, of course. He’s just a bit too peckish to wait, and his body just kind of moved on its own without much thought anyways. They called to him like a siren, these donuts did, and they got him into trouble he’s soon to find. The rustle of the cart does not alert Christophe to anything, considering he’s a thin guy. He doesn’t take up much of the aisle. He assumes whoever is behind him is going to roll up beside him, not _into_ him, and not angrily.

“Whoa! Fuck—” Turning around, Christophe continues to get knocked in the hip, then narrowly smashed in the dick before he puts his knee up. And then he just sorta hops backwards to keep his balance while Miklan lays into him in the freezer aisle. “Shit, calm down, Mikelina’s.” Hah, he thought of that one when walking by the frozen mac and cheese dinners.

Chuckling quietly, because to Christophe, Miklan could only possibly be gently frustrated and not full blown fussed, he says, “I’m eating donuts, the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” He tosses another one back. His bandages are _brown_.

“If you want to pound my ass in the middle of the supermarket, we can find a bathroom.” This is muttered from around a mouthful of chocolate. Examining what he’s got in the cart so far, Chris feels a modicum of guilt. He just went off and grabbed an armful of supplies for him and he’s giving the guy shit.

Christophe ogles the first aid shit and says nothing, suddenly unsure about how much Miklan knows about all that, anyways. He straightens his back up and goes, “shit, thanks, man.”

“Yeah, in the fucking freezer aisle,” Miklan bites back, watching on with thinly veiled disgust. Ew. The bandages look sticky and gross. He doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to be the one wearing them, just as much as he doesn’t want to think about the fact Christophe seems entirely unfazed by it. You’d think a man without access to healthcare would be a little more concerned about infection, but apparently not. At least there doesn’t seem to be any open wounds on Christophe’s hands… as far as he could tell from the brief contact they had in bed, anyway. 

“Give me those.” And then he’s snatching the bag away. He peers into it. There’s barely any left- no surprise there- but in a moment of what can only be described as hangry, Miklan takes out the remaining two and shoves them into his mouth in one go, crumpling the bag and throwing it into the cart afterwards. They can pay for the bag. Whatever.

“You’re an idiot.” Except it comes out more like yhre ahn edyut, because Miklan is talking around a mouthful of food as he starts to slowly walk again. Oh, that was gross. Why did he do that. Between the shitty feelings from earlier and almost choking on chocolate, he kind of wants to spit it out onto the floor, but he perseveres all the same. When he finally swallows without gagging, he looks over at Christophe, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t fucking walk off again. I thought you left.” It was meant to sound irritated, but some of that anxiousness seeps through. “Or at least tell me first. Goddamn.” 

It _would_ be faster if they could split up, though the idea fills him with uncertainty all the same. Christophe is flaky at the best of times. The thanks reaches his ears, and he seems to relax somewhat. He only sighs. “Don’t worry about it. I thought you could use them.”

As the guy wearing them? Christophe feels fine, because he’s still eating them. The moment that he’s done, though, he’s going to want to pick up things without smearing chocolate all over whatever he’s reaching for. That hasn’t reached his head yet. As far as infection and the like is concerned, Christophe was definitely more worrisome over that the first time he was in deep need of a Z-Pak. He’ll never forget having to recover from pink eye without an antibiotic.

As the years went along, Chris has gotten a bit lax on some things. He can’t force himself to care about _every_ little thing. He’s burnt himself out too many times before. If he can’t have mini chocolate donuts without freaking shit, he’ll die. That’s a fact.

“Hey!” Christophe yelps as the bag is yanked away. The mild discomfort he feels in his stomach, however, makes him quickly forgiving of the gesture. After all, he’s not sure how much of this _he’s_ paying for and how much _Miklan’s_ paying for. Might as well get two of the only donuts in the bag that _you’re_ coughing up the cash for. Miklan grumbles out between chews of his food and Christophe snickers a bit more.

Honestly, he can never stay too tense around Mik. There’s something just… endearing and wonderful about him, even when he’s grousing and bitching. Christophe supposes that’s weird of him to think, but grumpy makes up a good third of the man’s emotions. Gotta love it, right? The other two thirds are variations on _bastard_ and _gap moe_ , if you were wondering, according to Chris.

Christophe sucks some chocolate off his bandaged finger, _ugh?_ “Left? Like… the store?” And Chris isn’t offended by the statement. It takes him a second but then his face brightens up, like he’s a digital painting someone’s went and turned the saturation up on. “Oh, you were worried about me?”

Glancing back down into the cart, he has to admit… it looks like Miklan spends quite a lot of time… _worried about him_. Christophe isn’t sure why it happens this way, but he’s stirred with a feeling of warmth only to be drowned out completely by shame, embarrassment. Chris feels hot and cold at the same time. Making people fuss over him is the literal last thing that he wants. He smiles, because the thought of Miklan caring so much really does wonders for his paranoia. He just… also pulls taut the drawstrings of his parka, enclosing his small, freckled face in a shrinking window of fur.

“You’re sweet, I’m fine. I don’t need to be…” Chris glances down at his one chocolate-covered hand. “Taken care of.”

Miklan blinks. Oh. That’s it, isn’t it? Of course he was worried about being left alone. That much is undeniable. But it was less out of fear of what might happen to himself all the while, and more out of concern for Christophe.

Out of a fear of the unknown.

It’s the not knowing that kills him. It always has. The periods of radio silence between Christophe changing locations, wondering if he made it safely or if he’d finally been caught. The automated replies of _the number you have dialed does not exist_ , just praying, hoping that he’d respond with a new number within days rather than weeks. The news reports after the mass killings, the fact Christophe was among the few Red Libs who could not be identified. They never found a body. _Why couldn’t they find a body?_

Because for all the years Miklan spent wondering and guessing, Chris is right here in front of him, living, _breathing_ , licking chocolate from bandages with a gross indifference.

Miklan is so momentarily overwhelmed that he actually has to look away to focus on some random floor tile scuff, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but can’t quite figure out what. In the end, he just says, “Shut the fuck up.” Because he was and always has been worried about him. He doubts that’ll ever change. He’s not sure why, but the doubt from Chris manages to hit a nerve he didn’t fully realize existed. Stupid. Miklan has always cared about him, in his own roundabout way. That much should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, you do.” Is what he says eventually, having found that his words are starting to come back. “Don’t tell me that you don’t need taking care of when you’re eating a whole bag of donuts and getting chocolate all over yourself, craphands.” Miklan sticks his hand through the gap to lightly prod Chris on the nose. 

Then he’s moving again to pick up odd freezer bits here and there. If he has to stand and think any more, he’s going to go insane. Fries are a good distraction. So are veg.

The demand comes out gruffer than maybe Miklan was expecting it to. It lands harshly on Christophe’s chest, though luckily it slides slow and heavy off his front in the time between its utterance and his next set of words.

Okay… so, he _isn’t_ upset? Christophe can’t tell. Most of the time he can decipher Miklan’s shit to discover he’s really not ever as angry or frustrated as he seems and it’s all just a cover for the deeper shit he feels. Miklan isn’t a man with only two emotions, mad and smad, but sometimes those are really the only ones Chris gets to look at. While he’s busy figuring his shit out, Christophe guesses, he stands with his hands pressed against the side of the cart, anxious for a time, anxious still until Miklan pokes him in the nose.

Playful, okay. Well, that means that even if Miklan _was_ feeling shitty, he’s making an effort to appear like he’s not. Maybe Christophe will be generous and not pursue whatever that was. In subconscious reflection of Mik’s words, he wipes his mouth finally with the back of his hand and he no longer resembles a fucking Rugrat gone wild with a Reptar bar.

“I don’t see how this was a poor decision,” he remarks frankly, following behind.

For all of his absences, the ways in which he vanishes from the face of the map without so much as an announcement some days, Christophe has always been terrified of going back to nothing at all. In his eyes, there’s never any reason for Miklan to fear him vanishing. He’d rather die than unglue himself from Miklan’s side at this point. He can’t see what Miklan sees: a fickle phantom that could up and decide one day that for his own safety, he has to start existing even _less_ than he already does.

And for all of the support Miklan has given Chris over the years, it makes sense he’d be hurt over that comment. Miklan’s always cared. Christophe just isn’t sure how much of his support is obligatory and how much is out of emotion. Leave it to Christophe to fucking engineer a way of thinking that the closest person in his life right now is somehow performing acts of kindness on a perfunctory level with nothing more inspired.

It’s the paranoia, honestly. It’s why he’s quiet now in the aisle while Miklan picks out vegetables he won’t eat. Christophe’s just afraid of finding out he’s being put up with. Great time for him to consider the thought.

At this point, Miklan’s just going about his shop as usual, having entered some sort of autopilot following the mental breakthrough from earlier. He finds himself picking up things that he wants to eat, things that he knows he needs at home, occasionally shoving in double so that Christophe can take back a share too. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’ll be decimated the moment he tries to put any of it together into something even vaguely resembling a meal… but the fact that he has the components to begin with makes him feel better, given it’s a major undeniable improvement from the whopping _nothing_ he had prior. 

Still, he’s careful not to go overboard. He knows Christophe is limited on space and time so quick, easy things are favored, in addition to non-perishables. It frees up freezer space, but keeps him fed all the same.

He’s in another aisle and putting pasta into the cart when he says, “For the love of god, don’t put any weird shit in this.” And then he’s holding up a jar of pesto. “Use this. Not, fuckin, mountain dew, or whatever the hell else you try cooking with.” He hates that he has to say these things in the first place, except he’s probably earned the right to a little griping after the painful number of years he’s had to look at pictures of Christophe’s “dinner”. Sylvain had said that Christophe was only pulling his leg; he _wishes_ that were true. If Miklan tries hard enough, he can almost see and taste cigereal in his mind’s eye.

Gross.

Soon enough, there’s a decent amount in the cart. Meals, snack pieces, even some water - the _good_ kind, because Miklan had watched how Christophe’s nose wrinkled at the cheaper brand. Once a bougie ass, always a bougie ass. “What else…” He’s thinking aloud, leaning against the cart. He’s absolutely going to forget something, because he always does. That won’t stop him from raking his mind all the same.

Contemplating to himself, Christophe follows along all the same. Every now and again, he’ll see something worth snagging and drop it silently into the cart. Not too much, mind you. Only the essentials. Like, those fucking chocolate oranges? He needs one of those. Poptarts? A given. Just a fucking square packet of Kraft Singles? Absolutely necessary. And Miklan had _better_ not give him any stray glances over putting kool-aid in the cart.

When he’s corrected on how he should be cooking, Christophe rolls his eyes much like a teen getting chided. Of course he knows how to make things the _right_ way, but he’s always in the pursuit of something new, something exciting. In any case, the idea of putting mountain dew in place of a sauce on some pasta sounds horrid. Clearly, you’d use the mountain dew to boil the pasta in to give it flavor. Miklan would never understand his genius.

Silent all the while, almost mystifyingly so, Christophe lets Miklan get the shopping out of the way, or else they’re going to be there forever. His input isn’t really needed, at least not until Miklan’s pondering over what could be missing.

It’s then that Christophe drops his unique find into the cart, answers his question with such succinct aplomb, Miklan would be _crazy_ to not let him have it just from the sheer power that he exudes alone.

“Egg cuber.” The box reads, _make a square egg_.

And then, Christophe is hugging him around the waist from behind. “Thank you for doing this.”

Ah, yes. Man’s essentials. Kraft Singles is absolutely up there with water and oxygen.

Miklan says nothing throughout. If Christophe wants those, who is he to object? It’s a nice change from him outright stealing, or otherwise claiming that he doesn’t need anything, period. It’s not like him being treated by anyone is a regular occurrence, a fact of which makes Miklan quietly sad. It’s about time good things came their way.

Egg cuber isn’t quite what he had in mind, though. Miklan stares at it when it clatters into the cart, expression falling comically flat. You can almost hear the windows start up noise in his head, the blaring dial tone as he tries to process the box and its top tier graphic design. What the fuck is that? What the fuck are you meant to use it for? _Make a square egg_ , obviously. He’s kind of vaguely terrified and impressed in equal measure by the product itself and the sheer audacity of it all. “What the hell…” He says under his breath, more to himself than anything or anyone that warrants a reply. 

Everything seems to melt away when Christophe’s arms are around his waist, pulling him closer. Whilst he tenses initially, he finds himself relaxing soon enough. It’s a consistent mental battle of _I’m not used to this_ and _I want this desperately._

“You don’t have to thank me.” More accurately, he doesn’t want him to. Miklan leans into him in the way of a hug that he can’t give from this position. “I wanted to.”

They’ve hugged before. Duh. But this feels different, and Christophe can tell by the way that he doesn’t want to let go. And eventually he’s going to have to because they are in a supermarket and he thinks he knows Miklan well enough to know he’s not going to want to do the couple’s penguin waddle to the cash register while Christophe clings to his back. For now, though, Christophe closes his eyes and just… stands there, his hands hiding within his jacket (which is good, because neither one of them want Christophe to wipe chocolate all over Mik’s clothes.)

Christophe actually hates how tall he is. He’s never known the experience of being towered over in that protective way he’s always wanted a man to do to him. Sadly, being a bottom doesn’t translate well when you’re this long. At least, when he holds Miklan to him like this, he feels that protective impulse he’s never really felt for anyone else. He’ll drape himself along Miklan’s back, slouching just enough that he can slot his chin onto his shoulder like so and squeeze his much larger body to his.

Simply thinking to himself that Miklan’s good, a good person, good to him, good to be around… _objectively_ wonderful in spite of anything that wants to tell him otherwise, he’ll do anything for him. No one else is dragging him around a store and making sure he’s fed, that he has supplies to keep himself clean and healthy with, thinking about his well being, _thinking about him at all_.

Thank god, it’s the middle of the night and it’s empty in this Walmart. The last thing Christophe needs is some fucker staring. That’ll be the quickest way for Miklan to force himself out of this grip that Christophe is _not_ ready to surrender yet. Whispering, voice hoarse, he asks, “what can I do?”

_You still don’t know how much all of this means to me._

Christophe comes to settle against his shoulder, prompting Miklan to tilt his head just so in order to rest against him when the question comes. _What can I do?_

_How vague_ , is his first thought. _Nothing_ , is the second.

Miklan doesn’t particularly want anything in the way of thanks. He can’t stress enough that this wasn’t done in search of repayment, especially not of the material kind. All of this comes from a place of care, of love, although he remains too reluctant to vocalize such a sentiment in its purest form. It’s acutely pathetic, how Miklan’s love language is the polar opposite of literally anyone normal, but he’s been this way for more years than he cares to count. _I love yous_ are often accidental, slipping out before he has time to process the weight and implications of his own words. Acts of service are easier than spitting out confessions you’re too afraid to confront. The trade off is that they’re easier misinterpret, to be played off as no more than kindness or obligation.

But make no mistake; in this moment, he’s undeniably content. That’s all that matters. If you had told Miklan only a week ago that he would be held so tenderly and overwhelmed with such tenderness in turn, he likely would have barked with laughter or otherwise spat at your feet. Now… it’s not so hard to believe. 

Miklan is quiet for awhile, until a hand lifts up to maneuver Christophe a little closer. “Keep being good to me,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And be good to yourself, too. Promise me that.”

There has to be something, and Christophe thinks this because as far as he knows… this is temporary, or a fluke, or an act of authentic kindness but nothing like _that_ surely. Surely, if Miklan really felt that way, he would make it clear. In all the conversation’s they’d had up until this point, he’s been as open as can be about caring about Christophe and in hindsight, Christophe has the searing thought that maybe he’s just going a little _crasy_. Maybe none of this is the way he thinks. Maybe Christophe’s just clinging on a little too hard to the only man to be human to him.

_Maybe_ —and then Miklan’s speaking into his cheek, kissing it soft, and making Christophe’s knees all jello and slime.

There’s something very teenage about the way Christophe’s stomach flips around and his grip tenses up. Far removed from their night together, where Christophe’s emotions felt more in line with a decades long desire, Christophe nearly feels like he’s in high school again and he’s getting attention from his crush in front of everyone. It’s definitely just the public setting that’s doing this to him. There’s no one to bear witness. If there is, they’re both unaware.

His heart quickens its pace and he swallows some sudden saliva. Chris can _feel_ his face burning. His saving grace is that he’s stood behind Mik. He can’t possibly see what he looks like right now, brain all but frying at that simple phrase: _be good to me_. That’s probably just going to be a thing now between them. It makes Christophe’s hairs stand on end. God, god, god, he feels so _warm_.

“Y-yea,” he sputters out. “I can do that.” Christophe clears his throat. The words come out robotic but not insincere. He means them, after all. He’s just trying not to sigh or squeal or make any fucking noises out of… some emotion he’s long since went without feeling.

His first instinct is to bury his face in Miklan’s neck. Chris does, of course, but only long enough for him to plant a hard kiss there before finally relinquishing his grip and snatching the cart up by the front, walking toward the register. Christophe doesn’t look back at Mik at all.

If the silence between them had continued for any longer, Miklan would have assumed that he did something wrong and that the small request had somehow shattered any modicum of warmth between them. Perhaps Christophe had been hinting at something else, searching for an answer that wasn’t so… heartfelt. Food and money could be repaid with ease. Affections, not so much.

But no denial comes, no signs of disgust - just a kiss and a stammered response: _I can do that_. The confirmation comes as a great relief, making him release a breath he wasn’t entirely sure he was holding in until Christophe’s lips are against his neck, hasty but no less loving. It makes him smile; small but so, so genuine, and he has to bite his lip to stop it from spreading any further into a fully fledged dopey grin. 

A good thing Christophe doesn’t look back, because some of that internal sap is starting to show on his face. All of the tension from earlier seems to have dissipated entirely, tired, worried wrinkles instead replaced by the slightest trace of a youthful flush. Miklan hates the way that he blushes, the way that it manages to spread relentlessly even to the tips of his ears, and for the billionth time since they set foot in the store he’s glad there’s very few people around to bear witness to the sight. Christophe isn’t the only one who feels like a high schooler in the presence of their sweetheart, butterflies doing flips in their stomach all the while.

He almost stumbles when he finds himself internally referring to Chris as _sweetheart_ , narrowly managing to avoid making a complete fool of himself by taking a hold of the cart handle to steady himself and follow after him in the same stride.

Smooth, Miklan.

Arriving at the register, Christophe specifically drags Mik and the cart to the line furthest to the west door. There, is one of the only two check-out lines that sell cigarettes. Did anyone think that Chris had forgotten them? Not a chance in fucking hell. He will say, however, that spending time with Miklan makes him feel like he doesn’t need them as much, especially when they’re just chilling together as simply as you do. 

The lady at the register looks tired, on her last legs, done to shit with her shift. Even if it’s her job and the two of them _do_ need groceries, Christophe can’t help but feel weirdly guilty for having strolled up to the register at all. Christophe fingers his wallet from out of his pocket and, again, thinks to himself that he doesn’t know how much of this is going on Miklan’s card and how much will see _his_. Really, Christophe is running out of steam. He hasn’t been to work and his reservoirs are running out. After today, he’s really going to need to focus on work. He won’t have a room to stay in, otherwise.

“Carton of Lucky Strike no-filters,” Christophe says, gauging for Miklan’s reaction. If he says nothing at all in regards to being bought a whole carton, Christophe will say, “two actually,” in an excellent display of pressing his luck. Otherwise, the one is just fine.

“ID, please?” she asks, and Christophe is floored. _What? I’m… getting carded?_ How fucking youthful and chipper does he look today that apparently he’s missing the six or so lines in his face that typically stop this from happening? Christophe’s mood sours.

“I’m twenty-six,” he insists, and she more or less regards him with a deadened stare. As if that matters to her or to the camera watching her check IDs. Christophe knows she isn’t being a bitch. Christophe knows its her job, but he sighs and starts piling items onto the belt anyways. “Whatever, I left it at home. Can you at least sell a pack to him? He’s clearly not underage.” _No offense, Mik._

Just as Christophe jabs a finger back at his good friend, the shorter but bulkier one with ample scruff and a big scary scar, the lady remarks blandly, “I’m not _supposed_ to say okay and just sell it to your of-age boyfriend, but I don’t get paid enough to care.”

To that, Christophe snorts. He chokes. His face goes flush and he refuses to look back at Miklan. Did she just… assume that? _Why did she assume that?_ Were they spotted from all the way across the aisles being… _gay?_ Christophe sweats and smiles, grips the cart tightly, _feels eyes on the back of his neck._

And then he just says, “c-cool, right on.”

_Help. What does Miklan look like right now?_

What does Miklan look like right now?

Confused, frankly: face screwed up and mouth twisted into a grimace, like he can’t quite process what the cashier just said without being dealt physical damage. 

There’s a whole lot to unpack in the span of just a few seconds, so much that you may as well just throw out the whole suitcase. Being called old, being called Christophe’s boyfriend, and being called Christophe’s _older_ boyfriend to boot just feels like he got hit by a brick and then by a car, only to have them reverse over him for good measure. There’s a gap of a year between them, for God’s sake; he isn’t out here with his damn sugar baby buying fucking groceries from _Walmart_. He hates gay people so much it’s unreal.

Except he’s gay people, and he can’t make eye contact with either of them as he ceases dumping groceries onto the conveyor belt to pull his wallet out of his back pocket and fumble around for his debit card. He wants to explode. It doesn’t help any that the blush from earlier still remains in part, tinting his cheeks a guilty shade of pink. “Tell me about it,” he says in response to the comment about not being paid enough, sounding a billion shades of exasperated right now. He really doesn’t get paid enough for the shit he deals with on the regular. His snide remark from several weeks ago about how he deserves compensation for dealing with Chris and Holst flickers into his mind, and he can’t help but think that it’s still painfully applicable. He wants a cash payment by Friday.

Miklan’s elbowing Christophe in the back, _dear God please move along_ , when he grumbles, “Just… What he asked for.” Between requesting some bags and saying he’s going to pay by card, he offers a ‘ _We’re both of age,_ ’ because that’s clearly the more pressing concern to clear up. He doesn’t want to think about how this lady is more perceptive than either of them could ever hope to be, nor does he want to be viewed as any more of a freak than he likely already is by the general public. 

_We’re both adults. Please. Just fucking give him the cigarettes_.

Honestly, if the _boyfriend_ word hadn’t been dealt like a sword to the sternum, Christophe would be doubling over in laughter because _goddamn_ does a man only one year older than him still manage to look old as shit. It’s the scar, really. Which isn’t fair because lord knows he didn’t do it to himself. It just makes him consistently come across as some fucking war veteran or a guy that’s been into _some shit_ and, well… Christophe is skinny. Christophe has a baby face for being 6’4” and twenty-six. Christophe gets carded less the rattier he looks. Guess he’s glowing today, or something.

Good on this cashier for thinking Christophe is not only younger but also taller, though. That’s funny. This whole interaction is funny. It’s dawning on him in waves after the initial gut punch of being called _boyfriends_. Seconds later, Christophe thinks about the crush he had back then. Glenn was two years older, graduated from their high school first. There was always something so weirdly… _cool_ about Miklan, senior in high school with his already-graduated-college-boyfriend, in that way that teenagers think is cool when you watch too much television and wanna be grown so damn bad. Sometimes he’d insert himself into that little fantasy, thinking to himself about being a senior in high school, getting picked up by his successful, cool, car-driving college boyfriend.

Christophe never finished high school. Even if he did, he’d have no diploma he could show for it. Miklan never got himself a college degree, despite having all the fucking brains in the world for it. These thoughts are pins that poke holes in the weird, nostalgic feeling he gets when this lady acts like Miklan’s way older and doing him a solid by buying him some fucking _cigarettes_. It’s still funny, though, in that way that he will always care so, so much less about looking like a weirdo in public than Miklan does.

For some reason, Christophe has forgotten to worry about what Miklan’s response to this will be, until he actually speaks, and then Christophe’s eyes go wide and wary. Before he can say too much, he’s stuck in the back with an elbow and he stutters along with the cart, taking to grabbing some bags and loading up the cart once more in silence.

Yeah, he’s gonna need a cigarette after this. Good _god_ let him get a cigarette after this.

The lady doesn’t seem to care one way or the other, blankly offering Miklan a disinterested stare and an offer to join their rewards club. Wordlessly on the topic, she loads a bag with the cigarette carton. The one, because she can see that Christophe maybe shouldn’t be getting more than that. His anxious attention to the amount tells her that much. Then she sends them on their way, and Christophe fully drops his wallet at the register as he makes a line for the door.

_I gotta get outta here._

After paying, Miklan’s wallet is wordlessly slipped back into his pocket with no more than a nod at the cashier in thanks, walking after Christophe with a briskness he doesn’t bother to hide. He’s not sure why this rubbed him up the wrong way as much as it did. It’s not as though he’s unused to people assuming the worst of him. Scars and a perpetual resting bitch face don’t particularly make for a good first impression, even he can agree with that much. But this made him feel… odd. Put on the spot, as though he’d done something _criminal_ by simply existing in someone else’s peripheral as he is. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t smart somewhat to be consistently perceived as shady.

What could he say to a comment like that without hurting someone’s feelings, be it hers, Christophe’s, or his own? Outright denial isn’t entirely true. Then again, neither is smiling and agreeing. All of this is a sort of limbo, neither here nor there, not _real_ until someone puts on a brave face and asks the questions that need to be said.

But the idea of assigning a name to what they currently have (if anything at all), let alone calling himself someone’s _boyfriend_ , is a matter he’d been purposefully avoiding eye contact with ever since he first began spilling thoughts and feelings through text in a heartwarming stream of consciousness. It’s not that Miklan doesn’t want to be committed, more that he fears it. _Absence makes the heart grow fonder_ , or so the saying goes. In Miklan’s case, it’s only fueled anxiety and weariness.

They’re not in high school anymore, as often as he finds himself reminiscing. The pair are fully grown, jaded by world experiences and without the luxuries of their teenage selves. They’re no longer fooling around between the four of them, following impulses and desires without strings attached until a combination clicks. Here, there’s feelings on the table as much as he may try to convince himself otherwise. Christophe seems shaken by something, and Miklan silently shares the sentiment.

He’s unlocking the car when they’re back in the parking lot. It’s gotten significantly darker since they were last out there, as if that was humanly possible, the area lit only by overhead street lights with the odd few that flicker on and off. Miklan is loading bags into the trunk when he mutters, perhaps to himself or as a means of breaking the deathly silence, “What a weird woman.”

In the brisk night air, Christophe tastes familiar freedom as the only sounds to grace his ears are the clomping of footsteps and the rattling of the cart. Still feeling the gentle jab of Miklan’s elbow at his back, Christophe bites his lip and tries to tell himself that this overpowering silence is not uncomfortable, that he didn’t fuck things up merely giving Miklan a warm embrace in the view of other people. That’s what alerted the cashier, wasn’t it? God, what a fuck-up.

Christophe’s looking down at his dirtied hand, careful to not get chocolate on anything he’s loading into the car when he decides _fuck it_. Just fuck it. He needs to wash this thing. Chris takes to unwrapping the bandages from his left hand, tucking them into his pocket and then hiding his hand as usual in the dark of his sleeve. Miklan speaks up and the space between them somehow feels quieter for it. Chris feels around for his wallet. Chris doesn’t find his wallet.

“Dammit,” he gripes, “forgot something,” and Christophe fully assumes that Miklan’s going to finish loading up the trunk and starting up the car in lieu of following him back in.

Christophe journeys back inside only to find the cashier rummaging through his wallet. _Rude_ is his first thought, but that’s only because he forgets for a moment that she’s likely looking for a form of ID to identify the owner. She won’t find one, not an ID, not a gym membership, nothing.

Or… she’ll find one thing: a photograph he’s left stuffed in the back of his pleather wallet for well over nine years of him, Alvin, Lucia, and of course Ashe. It’s bent up in the shape of his wallet folds. It’s faded and worn. One wrong move could tear it. “That’s mine,” he says.

And as she hands the picture and the wallet back, she seems to smile more than previously. “You guys are cute,” she says. “Are you Christophe?”

Christophe’s blood runs cold and he snatches the wallet and photo back, lucky to have not torn it. “No,” he bites, terrified. Confirming his suspicions, he glimpses to the back of the photo.

‘ _Christophe, Ashe, Lucia, Alvin, I love you 2009_ ’, there scrawled in Lonato’s handwriting as the man who took the picture himself.

The cashier says something else that bounces off Chris like rubber. His mind has floated somewhere else. He’s being rude. He’s freaking out. Christophe stomps back out of the store with the wallet and photo in hand, his lungs quaking as he walks, and walks, and walks until he’s too stressed to notice that he completely misses the car, storming off anxiously, black pavement and white lines and walking, walking, _walking_.

_Don’t go through my things. Don’t know my name. Don’t know who they are. Don’t know who I am. Don’t don’t don’t_.

Figuring it’ll be quicker than the pair of them ambling along together, Miklan decides to let him run back alone.

… That, and, he’s not quite in the mood for the potential of another awkward confrontation. Maybe her and Chris can laugh it off, or something.

He finishes loading up the car relatively quickly, so takes the liberty of sorting some of the groceries - namely, separating off the bits and bobs that belong to Christophe into their own bag to be lugged away with ease once they’re back at the motel. Seeing as he didn’t have the opportunity to be particularly methodical earlier in all his hurry to get out of there as fast as humanly possible, it’s a helpful task just as much as a mindless task intended to occupy the time between Chris leaving and returning once more. Scruffy as he looks on the outside, Miklan finds _some_ small enjoyment in organization. Maybe he’s just getting old. Man.

He’s just about done when he hears footsteps approaching. It’s evidently Chris, if the haphazard pace and telltale rustle of the coat are anything to go by. He doesn’t bother looking up when he starts with, “About time. Can you…” Except the footsteps don’t slow. In fact, they get quicker, passing by in a flash. Okay.

Miklan blinks. It’s safe to say he wasn’t expecting that, if the delayed response is anything to go by. 

“ _Hey!_ ” And then he’s shouting after him, though he doubts Christophe can hear despite the echo in the lot. Maybe he doesn’t want to. Miklan has just enough time to slam the trunk shut before he’s walking after him, jogging, just to make a flimsy grab at his arm before he can disappear entirely. “Chris! Chris? Where are you _going_?”

Really, Christophe doesn’t mean to do this shit that he does. His head blips into autopilot until Miklan’s got a grip on his arm, and then Christophe snaps out of whatever head space he’d been in just enough to glance over at him. And then he’s trying to make sense of whatever look he’s got on his face, eyes glinting back and forth between Miklan and his car. The car he just went and marched on by. Dumbfounded, Christophe’s eyebrows bunch up and then he looks worrisome, apologetic.

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

And embarrassment sets in, because this isn’t the first time he’s just left his head like that before and it likely won’t be the last. How many jobs has he lost because he’s done that, only to wake up from it and realize he’s been stuck in the same spot, performing the same action, or just sat there looking at nothing with a strange look on his face after an hour has gone by and the fucking bike he was working on is still sat there, broken. Christophe doesn’t know what to call it, when the time goes like that, when he starts moving without thinking.

“Um.” Christophe looks down at his hands, the one bandaged one and the one much uglier one. Fuck, he didn’t put the picture away. Well, Miklan can come to his own conclusions when Christophe wordlessly opens his wallet back up and folds it back into place, shoving it into its spot behind two paper bills and a litter of change.

Then the thought occurs again. _I’ve made Miklan upset_. “I, uh. I’m sorry.” Christophe stares at the car, fully stocked up with groceries that Miklan took him to get. Such an act of kindness, and his stomach gets all twisted up again when he recalls Miklan’s words. _Keep being good to me_. Christophe recalls the kiss to his cheek, the warmth, the way his heart starts racing when he recalls it.

Christophe doesn’t know why it happens to him now, but he thinks to himself that… Miklan really puts up with a lot from him. Look at him, almost marching off the lot like a brain dead idiot after he’s gone and done all of this. Fuck, if only he could have a single shopping trip without it being _weird_ and _hard_. Christophe wishes that being around him wasn’t so goddamn difficult, wishes he existed, wishes he didn’t black out in the middle of an outing, wishes he could be more appreciative.

Quietly, he rests his head on Miklan’s, sighing and thinking to himself, _I’m a mess, I’m a mess, I’m a mess, what is he doing here with me like this?_

“Thank you, again for doing this for me.” And he wants to apologize twelve more times for the cashier but he doesn’t. He’ll just be told to stop apologizing, and he can’t even tell if it’ll be because he shouldn’t or because it’s awkward to hear.

Miklan silently watches him tuck the photograph away, that previous look of confusion melting into sympathy, vague understanding. He doesn’t know what happened in there, but he does know what the photograph is of and what it means to Christophe. If he’d been looking at it or thinking about it for whatever reason… well, it’s not so hard to imagine why he might have found himself spacey and overwhelmed.

He wants to say something in the way of comfort. Instead, he just shakes his head when the apology comes. He doesn’t know how many times he can reassure him that apologies aren’t necessary before Christophe believes him again, if he ever believed him at all. It makes him feel frustrated, guilty, and pity all at once. Frustrated that the reassurance isn’t going through despite his best efforts, guilty for acting in a way that warrants a _sorry_ in the first place, pity for everything and everyone that led to Christophe feeling the need to justify his every move to the one person who loves him faults and all. Simply _existing_ isn’t a luxury Chris has had for a long, long time. Miklan knows that any exhaustion he feels is likely felt by Chris tenfold.

“It’s okay.” Which is he responding to? Both. It’s Miklan’s turn to wrap his arms around Christophe’s waist now, lacing his fingers together behind his back to hold him firmly, securely. “You know I wanted to.” He offers, wondering if the implications will be lost a second time. Damn virgo venus ass.

“Thank you. For coming with me.” Relaxing, his eyes slide shut. “For today. It was…” Perfect. That’s cheesy, and he knows it. He clears his throat. “I had a good time. Sorry for getting snippy with you back there.”

Christophe is expecting something that doesn’t come, expecting an awkward reply, expecting Miklan to feel put on the spot and this night to have been so fucking weird. Miklan’s reassurance comes at the perfect time. Christophe has his eyes closed, feeling his body grow heavier as Miklan’s arms wrap him up and he doesn’t mean to do it but he feels his frame start to weigh on him as he’s embraced. Christophe for all of his height is terribly thin, as heavy as a ghost. For all of the things on his mind, on his heart and his shoulders, Christophe wants to do his best to lighten Miklan’s load, not add to it.

He can’t lie though, Miklan’s body close to his makes him feel like he’s floating. The hands linked at his back hold Chris above water when he feels dragged down and lost. This parking lot is devoid of anything but the two of them, less in the physical way and more as though Christophe is clinging to the only thing in the world that matters, the sole individual concerned with his survival.

How could Miklan _ever_ think Christophe could ever leave him?

And Christophe can’t say that he _knows_ he wanted to, but Miklan’s always been the type to do for him more than for himself, even. Recalling when Miklan came by once to clean up his motel room, merely sit with him and just make Chris feel known, Christophe lifts his own arms up, curling them around Miklan’s neck in silent appreciation. The thanks feels… unnecessary. Shoehorned in. Christophe has honestly no idea what Miklan’s talking about when he thanks him for today.

What did he do other than… exist? Just be around? Christophe chews on his own lip and trembles.

“I’m…” He doesn’t know what to say. All he’s full of is apologies and gratitude.

Well, and love. And maybe now that they’re out of the store he can express more of that. Excuse him and his love-struck heart. Christophe doesn’t know what to say, and so he leans down and captures Mik’s lips instead, a bit hurriedly, a bit with anxious fear, but burning with thanks.

_Thank you for putting up with me._

Christophe is leaning his weight against him and he can’t say that he minds at all, every bit grateful for the contact as he was before. He holds him closely, steadily, as though afraid the slightest movement might send him drifting away a second time. He doesn’t want that. He never has.

There’s no direct response to the apology, but that’s okay. Miklan felt the need to verbalize it all the same, vaguely aware that he _may_ have let anxiousness get the better of him once or twice as they were meandering around the store. It’s not something he’s proud of, especially with the realization that Christophe’s thoughts may have been lingering somewhere painful all the while. It’s also not a mindset so easily fixed. The most he can do is retain a sense of self awareness, keeping it in mind until his fears and doubts are soothed into nothingness. Unlearning that the world isn’t out to get you is a much slower process than he would like it to be.

But, it’s not an entirely unpleasant road to traverse. Forgoing harshness in favor of kindness? Well overdue.

Christophe’s lips are against his own and his heart beats a little faster. It’s more affirming than any nervous apology or thanks could ever be and Miklan accepts it without thinking, standing on his tiptoes just slightly to better receive it. This is what he wanted to do earlier. Pecks on the cheek can hardly compare, though he would be lying if he said he didn’t drink up every act of affection given as though it were his first and last.

They pull away, eventually. All Miklan does is lean forward a second time to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. A _love you_ sits in his throat, debating whether or not it wants to show.

For as much as Christophe enjoys talking, enjoys words, needs to hear love to perceive that it exists and is true, he knows that’s quite literally the opposite of his loved one here. In truth, he has no qualms with speaking in tongues. Christophe knows sometimes words aren’t enough, after all, that’d been his smooth line to get Miklan to come see him last night. Surely, if Miklan could go through life not having to verbalize anything ever, Chris is sure he would want to. For that reason alone, Christophe doesn’t mind the way that Miklan pulls back wordlessly. The second kiss he offers means more than any word ever could; it isn’t merely an acceptance of Christophe’s affection, it is an admittance of some of his own.

And fuck, he’s certain he could kiss Miklan forever. Glancing down at him, noticing how he’s perched up on his tip-toes, taking in the sight of his warm, beige eyes, his _kind_ eyes, Christophe can’t help but… chuckle a little. It’s not the kind of laugh he’s prone to. It dies in his throat and his body just jostles in it’s wake. And he nuzzles his nose into Miklan’s scarred one, his _perfect_ one.

“Let’s get out of here, before the frozen shit melts.” That’s a smart idea, even if he never wants his arms to leave Mik’s neck. “Lemme just…”

In perfect penguin-couple form, Christophe tightens his grip around Miklan and starts to rock from side to side, walking them both backwards as he does. This is going to take a while if this is really what they do, which Christophe is fully intending on unless Miklan interrupts them. Now _this_ is love.

“Yeah…?”

Honestly, he has no idea what Christophe plans to do from this proximity. It leaves little wiggle room, and… Oh. Okay. Penguin shuffling them both backwards wasn’t the first thought that came to mind. It’s so bizarre that it makes Miklan blink owlishly, glancing down at their feet cautiously as if he can’t quite process what’s happening, before he breaks out into a delayed laugh. 

Whether out of sentimentality or being entertained, Miklan lets him continue for a short while. No doubt he would have ended it before it began if they were in broad daylight, but something about this feels good, silliness and all. It very quickly dawns on him though that if they proceed the way they are, the frozen shit is going to melt anyway despite their acknowledgement of the possibility. Ideas are turned over in his mind for a little while, until he mumbles, “Hold on.”

Deciding to take advantage of the placement of his hands, there’s zero hesitation when Miklan hoists Christophe up with a freakish ease to start carrying him the remainder of the way. Wipe that smug look off your face, Mik.

Arms still roped tight around Miklan’s neck, Christophe bathes himself in that sound of his laughter. It’s always an accomplishment, he thinks, when he can make Mik go off like that. Inch by inch they waddle their way toward the car and Chris says, “we may make it by December.”

That’s when Miklan gets his wonderful idea, and he’s plucking Christophe up from the ground like a sack of potatoes. Shrieking in that horrid little hyena way that he does, Christophe wriggles around in his grip, not even trying that hard to snake out of Mik’s arms as he carries them across the way. No, in fact he just makes it easier when he wraps both legs around his waist, clinging to Miklan like some sort of spider monkey until they make it back to the car.

And Christophe feels warmer in that November air than a full day out in the summer sun. The feeling extends out from this little crack in his chest, a darker place that doesn’t usually see the light. It just so happens that when he’s goofing off, smiling along with Miklan like this, that Christophe feels like he’s meant to sit in the sunlight again.


	23. Catching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe reaches out to Ashe after their botched reunion and they catch up a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! thank you to all of the ppl who have reached out to me on twitter telling me that they've enjoyed this au!! it means the world! we're having so much fun writing it. ashe is written by sabel!

  
@ ashe  
  


christopholes  
hey ashe, you can reply whenever you feel like or not at all if you dont feel up to it, but i wanted to say i  
hope youre doing alright  


* * *

ashe  
oh⠀⠀hi!  
i'm alright. i hope you are, too.  
sorry. this was a little unexpected.  


* * *

**Oh, believe Chris. It is very unexpected. He is blaring metal loud enough to blow his eardrums out**  
**and chain smoking to even send any of these.**  


* * *

christopholes  
i wanted to give you some time to breathe i guess. before bothering you again.  
and i wanted to apologize for how things went.  


* * *

ashe  
i think that was smart. for both of us, i mean. i didn't want to message you too soon and say something i'd  
regret.  
thanks for that.  
apologizing, that is.  


* * *

christopholes  
you shouldnt thank me for that. thats⠀⠀bare minimum stuff right. you deserve that much from me.  
but. i think that whenever you're free and not busy, you deserve to have things explained to you.  
and you can also, say anything you need to and ill listen.  


* * *

ashe  
you can talk right now, if you want.  
i think it's better for both of us to do this over text.  


* * *

christopholes  
yea i agree. youre smart  
smarter than me and thats been since you were like twelve  


* * *

ashe  
i don't know about all that.  
go ahead. i have questions for you, but i'd rather you explain things before i start grilling you.  


* * *

christopholes  
cool so  
what⠀⠀⠀⠀were you told about. that incident. i dont know what i should correct. i know you were very young  
at the time so its like...i can understand if you were given some child friendly variation or.  
i dont know there was just a lot of media misinfo.  
considering i never died, that much is obvious but.⠀⠀⠀yeah.  


* * *

ashe  
yeah.  
i heard you all were killed.  
but i looked into it on my own, too. nobody would tell me anything more than that, so i figured i had to  
piece it together on my own.  


* * *

christopholes  
well  
i dont know how much you knew about the group i was a part of. as much as i wish you knew more  
because that would make it easier explaining, i feel like its better if... you didnt have to think about things  
that hard. they werent very nice when i said i wanted to leave. and i imagine that they were similarly pissed  
when i didnt attend that event. their last little stunt.  
but. i didnt. thats really it.  
as for why everyone was fed some false information about me being dead, that's probably because...  


* * *

**God, he doesn't want to explain the particulars of that mess. He rubs his temples a bit, unsure of**  
**what to say. He types a bunch of gibberish over and over and deletes it while he thinks, so it looks**  
**like he's saying something when honestly he can't think of what to say. He just doesn't want Ashe**  
**to get antsy and think he's leaving him on read.**  


* * *

it was just hard to find and identify the bodies. so they probably just thought i was among them.  


* * *

ashe  
right ...  
but you weren't, so.  


* * *

christopholes  
i wasnt.  


* * *

ashe  
so why let us think you were?  


* * *

christopholes  
it was a very scary situation, ashe. i was a kid. i was older than you but still a kid. i didnt want to be  
arrested, caught, hurt.  


* * *

**Chris decides suddenly that if Ashe thinks they were killed, he can just stretch the truth a little.**  


* * *

the group i was running with were all killed  
i sat scared shitless in a hotel until i ran out of money  


* * *

ashe  
really?  
but your group wasn't really killed, though...  
right?  


* * *

christopholes  
they all died  


* * *

ashe  
yeah... they died. but the news said they were killed.  


* * *

christopholes  
i really suspect that the reason they claimed me dead was because i was the only, the _singular_ survivor of  
that massacre. why go crazy looking for the last body when every other member out of over a hundred was  
found  


* * *

**Fuck, Christophe why couldn't you have just been straightforward for once? You say youre not a**  
**liar but what the fuck are you doing?**  


* * *

ashe what happened was horrible  


* * *

ashe  
i know.  
i know it was. i know you wouldn't have done something like that for fun. i know it had to be horrible.  
but we both know the government didn't kill these people. i just don't know why you're telling me that  
right now.  
it doesn't matter. just continue.  


* * *

christopholes  
...  
if it doesn't matter then ?  


* * *

ashe  
i don't want to interrogate you over it.  
i don't mean that it doesn't matter. i'm just frustrated. sorry.  


* * *

christopholes  
no  
youre well within your rights to interrogate me  


* * *

ashe  
i know. i still don't want to do that.  
i want to ask you things, and i want you to be truthful with me, but i am not going to treat you like a criminal.  


* * *

christopholes  
again: dont know how much you know about me  
but i am one  
i didnt reach out because im hiding from charges that will put me away for as long as im still alive  


* * *

ashe  
you're my brother. i don't WANT to treat you like a criminal, even if you are one.  
i just want to know what happened. so please explain it some more.  


* * *

christopholes  
fine  
let me not treat you like youre stupid then  


* * *

**Chronically is unable to come to grips with the fact that he's speaking to a fully grown adult that is**  
**not his thirteen year old kid brother anymore.**  


* * *

we were all facing major prison time. they wanted me to do more and more things that i didnt⠀⠀⠀want to.  
it was a demonstration. a mass suicide. but reporting on that sort of thing is dangerous to the people, to the  
morale of a society. plus, when you take into consideration the fact that the government wanted to brand us  
a hate group, potentially a terrorist organization, it bode well for the news to be that they snuffed out the  
threat. when my body wasnt found, i knew they had to know i was out there. but reporting that wouldnt do  
anything but rile the people up, i imagine. but that didnt mean i didnt think they werent looking for me.  
maybe they did, maybe they didnt. i have no way of knowing.  
now you know. and thats the truth.  
i didnt go. i didnt want to die but they decided i was, anyways. so i could never live freely again anyways.  


* * *

ashe  
i'm sorry, chris.  


* * *

christopholes  
its fine. im fine and im the one thats sorry.  
i dont know how long the grace period wouldve been for this. i can excuse myself for maybe a few months,  
a few months of cowering in fear and thinking that i would be caught by police for even walking down the  
street. a few months of wanting to come back home but fearing i would be found.  
but i definitely... let it turn into years.  
and i cant say how sorry i am for somehow letting that happen  


* * *

ashe  
thank you for saying it.  
can i ask you something?  


* * *

christopholes  
anything  


* * *

ashe  
who were those two people who kept up with you?  


* * *

christopholes  
holst has known since... hell when did i approach him.  
he too didnt know until for a few years after  
i really had a few years of complete and total isolation. it wasnt very good. i broke eventually and reached  
out to him first. he's always had his shit together better than anyone else i spoke to from back then.  
hilda knew. cant tell one without the other knowing, but i guess she's a good secret keeper.  


* * *

**While Christophe has kept up with Jeritza, keeping in touch with the would-be hitman whenever**  
**someone's been hot on his tail, he wouldn't rat Jeritza out or say why. Catherine too, he's kept up**  
**with her, but he already knows how much his father and Ashe probably despise her. The only guy**  
**left to give up is... Miklan. And Christophe doesn't want to throw Miklan under the bus.**  


* * *

ashe  
holst and hilda?  


* * *

christopholes  
uh  
well i didnt tell hilda, holst did  
i didnt really know that she knew until recently actually so dont go getting mad at her  
we didnt speak at all.  
holst definitely just needed someone to confide that secret in and i dont really blame him. try not to be too  
upset with either of them.  


* * *

ashe  
okay. so you only told one person?  


* * *

**Christophe throws his fucking phone before scrambling over to it, half-heartedly hoping it isn't**  
**broken in the middle of this goddamn texting conversation. Okay, it isn't. Okay, calm down. It's**  
**fine. It's fine. Ashe isn't an angry person it's fine. Just... okay, but Miklan IS an angry person.**  
**Fuck fuck fuck fuck.**  


* * *

christopholes  
i told someone else  


* * *

ashe  
... okay.  
do you not want to tell me who it is?  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont want you to be angry with him  
actually thats not really it  
you can be angry with him all you want youre allowed to be. you can be mad at him. you can be mad at me.  
i dont want⠀⠀⠀him to be upset with me.  
hes the only person whos been by my side for six of these nine years. as much as you have every right to  
grill him over keeping such a secret, id feel so shitty if after putting up with my shit and helping me through  
something unimaginably horrible  
he'd get flack for it  
if i tell you, id rather it if you directed that anger at me for making him lie  
for putting him and you both in that situation  


* * *

ashe  
... i wouldn't do that.  
it's fine. don't tell me.  


* * *

christopholes  
ashe  


* * *

**_Fucking look what you did, asshole._**  


* * *

im sorry are you upset  


* * *

ashe  
i'm okay. don't worry about me.  


* * *

christopholes  
i cant not be worried about you, youre my brother  


* * *

ashe  
it's okay. i don't want to dwell on that.  
i have another question.  


* * *

christopholes  
if you say so  
go ahead, ill answer as honestly as i can  


* * *

ashe  
why talk to holst but not me?  


* * *

christopholes  
ashe theres no comparing these two things  
he was one of my best friends growing up. i missed that. i missed having friends. i know i fucked up bad  
enough that its my own fault i made all my relationships forfeit but  
im not the reason holst's dad is incarcerated  
maybe thats why  


* * *

ashe  
... are you being snide with me?  


* * *

christopholes  
ashe im  
youre trying to make it sound like i chose holst over you, like i chose anyone i reconnected with again over  
you because i thought you were less important  
youve always been more important. youve always been the most important. thats why i was scared. thats  
why it took so long.  
there are so many more reasons for you to hate and resent me than anyone else  


* * *

ashe  
it just sounds like you expected a lot of bad things from me.  


* * *

christopholes  
ashe dont. i dont think that  
youre not a mean kid you never have been  


* * *

**Chris types up so many things and realizes he doesn't know how this went so wrong already.**  


* * *

me saying that you have every right to hate and spurn me doesnt mean i think that you will  
im prepared for what i deserve is all  


* * *

ashe  
i already told you. i've been telling you. i don't want to treat you that way.  
i don't want to treat your friends that way, either.  


* * *

christopholes  
what you _want_ to do and what you _should_ do to move on are two different things. just  
cuss me out if you need to. just tell me whatever it is you need to. im sorry i ran off before. just. dont think  
that im expecting nastiness from you because i think that youre hateful, or angry for angers sake, or  
someone who wants to hurt me  


* * *

ashe  
how i'm going to handle this and move on is for me to worry about.  
cussing you out isn't it. that's not going to help anybody.  


* * *

christopholes  
...however you want to handle it  
the reason i didnt come to you before anyone else was because i was scared. thats it.  
i didnt stop thinking about you a second.  


* * *

ashe  
... alright.  
i didn't stop thinking about you either, you know.  


* * *

christopholes  
really?  


* * *

ashe  
obviously.  
you died, but i still thought about you a lot.  


* * *

christopholes  
i'm sorry for putting that weight on you.  
i wasn't able to really keep up with how you were but, i heard your birthday went well.  
it made me smile to hear that.  


* * *

ashe  
thanks for saying that.  


* * *

christopholes  
every time it was your birthday id think about seeing you. i dont know when it happened that i started to feel  
like it was too late. and then every year felt harder.  


* * *

ashe  
it must've been really tough.  
it was tough on my end, too, but i can't imagine what it was like for you.  


* * *

christopholes  
its whatever  
for me  
im sorry for what you had to go through  


* * *

ashe  
it's not whatever.  


* * *

christopholes  
im not about to ramble on about how hard my lifes been  
all you need to know is that i love you, and i never stopped wanting to see you again  
and im sorry i didnt  


* * *

ashe  
i love you, too.  
i'm glad you got there eventually.  
i hope you're holding up alright.  


* * *

christopholes  
ya im ok  
hopefully better soon  


* * *

ashe  
yeah, i understand.  
thanks for talking to me.  
is there anything else you want to touch on?  


* * *

christopholes  
maybe  
im sorry if im not who i used to be. i dont exactly remember the good parts of who i was back then.  
im sorry if things never get back to normal. or if you ever find yourself frustrated with me all over again. if  
this isnt a thing that you ever become okay with.  


* * *

ashe  
it's been 9 years, chris. everyone changes. i wouldn't expect you to be the same. you shouldn't expect me  
to be the same, either. it's natural. it's not like we're all only capable of changing for the worse.  
it's never gonna be like it was. i know that. that doesn't mean we can't make it good, eventually.  
it's gonna work out.  


* * *

**Yeah, Chris is realizing that Ashe is different in a lot of ways than he thought he'd be and its**  
**continually tripping him up. He should know this.**  


* * *

christopholes  
i hope so  
i havent done this in a while, the whole... coming out of the closet as _alive_ thing in six years so  
apologies if im weird  
its hard to gauge when its okay to just talk like normal again and when i have to remind myself that im a  
freak bitch that pretended to be dead and i dont have the luxury of just talking regular to people like im not  


* * *

ashe  
you're not a freak bitch.  
you're just somebody who got cornered into a really bad situation.  


* * *

christopholes  
**ashe**  


* * *

ashe  
what?  


* * *

christopholes  
im sorry youre being so serious with me but you saying freak bitch is really  


* * *

ashe  
come on.  


* * *

christopholes  
ashe im so sorry  


* * *

ashe  
its⠀⠀okay. you can laugh at me saying freak bitch, chris.  


* * *

christopholes  
**ashe you cant**  


* * *

ashe  
i can.  
i know it's weird, but .⠀⠀i'm a grown up now.  


* * *

christopholes  
no yea  
im jus laughin  
i guess i only just got how weird that probably is  


* * *

ashe  
it's a little uncanny. but it doesn't bother me.  


* * *

christopholes  
ya i get u  


* * *

**...Right. Ashe is older and it's not fun or cute to joke about how much he's missed. It's just weird.**  
**Christophe frowns.**  


* * *

youre grown  
was gonna be eventually  
next youll be telling me you have a girlfriend or something  


* * *

ashe  
um, haha.  
no, i have a boyfriend.  


* * *

christopholes  
fucking word?  


* * *

**Yeah, Chris already knew Ashe was moving in with someone but still he's freaking _shit_.**  


* * *

ashe  
yeah, that's why i was moving.  


* * *

christopholes  
hhuh  
thats incredible ashe im really happy for you  
im really glad theres someone out there good enough  


* * *

ashe  
thanks, chris.  
haha. there is, trust me. i'm really lucky.  


* * *

christopholes  
thats good, you deserve that  


* * *

ashe  
thank you. it means a lot.  
it's a little weird being away from home, but it's been really nice.  


* * *

christopholes  
im glad  
...so  
wheres lucia and alvin?  


* * *

ashe  
oh, they're still with me.  
dimitri's place has space for all of us, so. i wouldn't want to move without them, anyhow.  


* * *

christopholes  
**d**  


* * *

ashe  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀uh-huh?  


* * *

christopholes  
wow i wouldve never guessed. you and the boy you always had over. goddamn.  
thats actually cute as hell.  


* * *

ashe  
hhaha. yeah, i always liked him a lot. that never really changed, so.  


* * *

christopholes  
thats great, ashe. i havent seen dimitri in so long  
.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀well . duh chris. im sorry i dont even know why i said that. no shit christophe.  
anyways, im glad for the both of you  


* * *

ashe  
don't beat yourself up, okay?  
but thank you. it means a lot.  


* * *

christopholes  
im gonna be beating the tar out of myself for a bit but ill have the decency to not publicize it  
im glad that, you guys have somewhere nice to be. what um.  
what happened... after . all of that?  


* * *

ashe  
don't beat the tar out of yourself! seriously.  
after what?  


* * *

christopholes  
like  


* * *

**Christophe feels like Ashe is deliberately dancing around something very fucking obvious that he**  
**just refuses to talk about and Chris doesn't know whether to just go for it or not. Maybe not.**  


* * *

never mind. we dont have to talk about it right this second.  
i think im out of brain cells for saying things like a regular person  


* * *

ashe  
no, it's okay. i'm really just trying to get on the same page.  


* * *

christopholes  
dw abt it  


* * *

ashe  
i don't want to assume.  
... alright.  
um, no, actually. i think i know what you mean, and i think we should talk about it.  
if you're okay with that.  


* * *

christopholes  
sure go for it  


* * *

ashe  
after lonato left, things were uncertain for a while.  
i narrowly managed to take custody of alvin and lucia once i turned 18, but before that, i was worried we'd  
get separated, or something...  
i got a job, and we managed to stay living in that house until now.  
we had a bit of extra support from friends and stuff, so. we haven't been in hot water for a while.  


* * *

**Christophe winces. _Ouch._**  


* * *

christopholes  
i might say the wrong thing.  
my first thought is that im proud of you. for stepping up like that, for taking care of them, for being good.  
for growing up fast when you shouldn't have had to. but its real garbage of me to even have to say that. you  
shouldn't have had to do any of that. being proud of something you were forced into doing is fucked, and im  
sorry you had that burden put onto you.  
you deserved to have had him still. i should've come home. i could've helped. im sorry.  


* * *

ashe  
i don't want to pin the blame on you, chris.  
i was grown up like this before you even met me, so.  
i'm not going to lie and say it wasn't hard, or scary. it was.  
but i don't want to dwell on what-ifs. you know?  


* * *

christopholes  
thats fair  
im glad that theyre doing alright  
you dont have to think about it any more than you already have.  


* * *

ashe  
i try not to. don't worry.  
if i sat around beating myself up over it, or beating other people up over it, i'd never get anything done. i'd  
just be stuck in my own head.  
you should try not to do that, too.  


* * *

christopholes  
i get told i do that a lot.  


* * *

ashe  
i wouldn't blame you. but you should still try not to.  


* * *

christopholes  
right, thanks  


* * *

ashe  
... don't beat yourself up, chris.  


* * *

christopholes  
i wont if you tell me not to  


* * *

ashe  
....  
hang in there.  


* * *

christopholes  
alright  


* * *


	24. My name is Twink.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a group chat with many of the students of Garreg Mach's joint high school/college in it (such as Sylvain and Ashe.) Miklan pops in occasionally. Christophe, who is pronounce dead, is unable to pop into the group chat as himself. Ever the prankster, he gives himself a funny icon and trolls around a bit in the group chat.
> 
> Afterwards, Miklan comes to get him.
> 
> Are they dating now? They have no idea. At least... after ten years, Miklan finally finds out why Christophe's hands are always so bandaged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, their chat messenger has sylvain emojis and sometimes miklan just has to deal with the fact that christophe uses emojis of his brother sometimes. its funny.
> 
> also christophe's joke name in the group chat with the pizza icon is "Dixie Normous." very important. he tells everyone hes a lunch lady at garreg mach with giant tits. miklan hates him for this.

  
@ christophe  
  


Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
holy shit  
when did i say that  


* * *

Miklan  
Literally a few hours ago  


* * *

christopholes  
(irkle voice) did i do thaaat  
or is it urkle  


* * *

Miklan  
What are you even talking about  


* * *

christopholes  
have you never seen family matters?  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀⠀No?  


* * *

christopholes  
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xz3ZOoYSMuw>  
  
anyways  
i have no idea what youre talking about and thats wild because usually thats my station  


* * *

Miklan  
What about if I did this  
  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
i love an intuitive man  
what gave it away  


* * *

Miklan  
Everything, first of all  
Also  
"Fat tits" is something only your ass would say  


* * *

christopholes  
i think any girl with fat tits would call them fat tits  
at least i would if i had em  


* * *

Miklan  
Literally no girl with fat tits would tell everyone she has fat tits because everyone _knows_ she has fat tits  
Theyre right there  


* * *

christopholes  
is that how it works?  
i guess thats why i dont talk about my  


* * *

Miklan  
Shut the hell up  


* * *

christopholes  
sore buddy?  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Your dick is huge but your brain is so fucking small  


* * *

christopholes  
its astounding which one of these matter more to you  


* * *

Miklan  
And what about it?  


* * *

christopholes  
if i knew all along then i wouldve told you way sooner you could come hop on  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck. I feel like Ive gotta mention that hopping on wasnt even on the original plan, it just happened  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
no it was definitely not my intention  


* * *

Miklan  
It kind of, uhh  
Yeah  
...  
You sure youve never done that before?  


* * *

christopholes  
im a whore of course i have  
not often  
dont usually care to   


* * *

Miklan  
Right  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  
What. Im just saying  
It wasnt. half bad  


* * *

christopholes  
o?  


* * *

**Christophe is chuckling, sitting on his phone at work instead of... you know, working. He's grinning**  
**at his phone.**  


* * *

well i couldve told you that  
i _was_ paying attention to you  


* * *

Miklan  
_Ha ha._ Yeah, Id fucking hope so  


* * *

christopholes  
i usually dont is the thing  


* * *

Miklan  
What, pay attention to people?  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  


* * *

**Miklan scratches his cheek. Weird, is his initial thought.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Guess there was a lot of firsts that night  
Im not sure if I should take that as a compliment or be insulted on behalf of everyone else  


* * *

christopholes  
you gotta be a little selfish to get off  


* * *

Miklan  
A little bit  
Is that just a bottom thing. Doing nothing  


* * *

christopholes  
you can be a top and do nothing  
focus on yourself  
just use the other person⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  
i didnt feel that way with you  
thats all  


* * *

Miklan  
I was kidding  
Mostly, at least  
Is that how you view sex usually? Using someone?  


* * *

christopholes  
eh  
i feel like thats putting it bleakly  
i just assume theyre taking care of themselves and im taking care of me  
to be really blunt, we dont know each other, they want a hole and i want a body to bend me up and go to  
town. i dont think all sex has to be soft and meaningful. sometimes you're just scratching an itch. in the  
same way that you need someone to make fast food for you. you need someone to drive the bus you take.  
you need a second person for it. doesnt mean it has to be... anything.  


* * *

Miklan  
Sorry. Got distracted by some bullshit  
Not saying all sex has to be soft and meaningful. But tuning in to what theyre doing is pretty standard and  
kind of a baseline, at least for me. Might as well just beat off otherwise  


* * *

christopholes  
different strokes  
doesnt really matter in your case tho  
also its fine im replacing some spokes  


* * *

Miklan  
Different spokes  
Whatever. Im not beating your ass over it. If Im the exception, Ill take that  
Cant get over you calling yourself a hole  


* * *

christopholes  
is as hole does  
no shit you arent the one beating my ass period  


* * *

Miklan  
Yet  


* * *

christopholes  
yet?  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  
In all seriousness if I slapped your ass I think you might die or at least concave  


* * *

christopholes  
i think id fly through the paper thin walls of that bitch  


* * *

Miklan  
What a fucking way to go out  


* * *

christopholes  
my boss is giving me an advance on my paycheck so i can get the fuck out of this motel. find a new one.  
cant imagine why he'd do that when i was out of work for like two weeks but i guess i do decent work  
gotta find a place with thicker walls  
then you can akon smack that and it wont be a problem  


* * *

Miklan  
Ask at the front desk if their rooms are spank proof  
No, in all seriousness. Thats great  
Calling the motel youre at currently a shithole feels generous. Itd be nice to see you someplace else  


* * *

christopholes  
i think its because im the only dude that will work for 12 hours straight  
i dont have a life and id prefer to work 12 hours for 3 days a week and then get the other 4 off.  


* * *

Miklan  
Youre nuts  


* * *

christopholes  
its dumb easy work. bikes are easy repairs.  
most people cant do the shit for that long in a day cause their fingers get sore  
score one for the christophe i cant feel them so its fine  


* * *

Miklan  
.. Right  
Can I ask you something? Doesnt have to be now. I know youre busy  


* * *

christopholes  
if you think id ever prioritize something like my job and money over you, youre insane  
what is it  


* * *

Miklan  
Its about your hands.  
How theyre bandaged, always. Theyve been covered for almost ten years now  
Youve never said anything about them. But I know you dont want me touching them. Except you cant feel  
anything in them anyway, I find out just now  


* * *

**Christophe chews on his lips some, not sure how to respond. It's not that he assumed Miklan knew**  
**already and didn't particularly care but... well, no, that's exactly what he thought, but he's not going**  
**to say that. That'd be unkind.**  


* * *

christopholes  
its just the pads i cant feel  
i still have feeling in the palms of my hand, some parts of the fingers. i wouldn't be able to pick up things  
otherwise if my fingers were entirely numb  
just yknow, when it comes to detail work or like... whats the right word for it, its not detail work its like.  
things that tend to wear on the ends of your fingers  
like tying balloons over and over, or in my case, constantly rubbing your fingers against bike chains and  
other pieces of metal  
those are a bit easier, cause i can't feel them go raw and get exhausted. really my hands just get kind of  
tired and i get annoyed.  


* * *

Miklan  
Thats...  
I had no idea. I mean, I always knew something was up. But I didnt think it was like that  
I almost didnt wanna ask. It seems like it bothers you  


* * *

christopholes  
be honest. did you think it was drugs or something.  


* * *

Miklan  
What? No. Fucking hell, Chris  
At first I thought you were just accident prone. Youre not exactly the most careful person around  


* * *

christopholes  
just checking. im aware i dont look like the healthiest person.  
i am accident prone but  


* * *

**Christophe doesn't know how to ask without offending him.**  


* * *

do you really not know⠀⠀⠀why my hands are burnt, mik?  


* * *

**The answer is so simple that it makes Miklan feel guilty.**  


* * *

Miklan  
No. I dont  


* * *

christopholes  
  
well shit  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
dont do that  
i burn them  


* * *

Miklan  
.. On purpose?  
Why?  


* * *

christopholes  
why did i start or why do i still do it  


* * *

Miklan  
Both.  


* * *

**Cigarette number four coming up, man Christophe's boss is gonna bitch.**  


* * *

christopholes  
started sometime around... nine months after i was declared. i think. was around the time that despite having  
all the intentions in the world of coming forward, i started making plans for... what if i didnt.  
i was still a kid. figured if i wound up dead and someone got my prints off of me, the truth would come out.  
wanted those things gone.  
as for why i still do it  
found out prints come back. then i found out there's so many other ways to find someones identity out  
but i already sunk so much time and attention into doin this  
figure its a waste if i stop  
figure its penance  
thats all.  


* * *

Miklan  
You dont think youve been punished enough already?  


* * *

christopholes  
thats not my decision to make  
hey  
should i get wendys or checkers on my way home  


* * *

Miklan  
Wendys. Also dont change the subject  
If its not your decision to make, whose is it?  
Because I know Ashe wouldnt want that. _I_ dont want you to do that  


* * *

christopholes  
their strawberry lemonade is really good  
i dunno man  
listen this doesnt have to be a thing  


* * *

Miklan  
Chris. It does have to be a thing. You cant seriously tell me that you burn your fingers on the regular and  
expect me to drop it  
I fucking care about you. Youre hurting yourself, and for _what_  


* * *

christopholes  
you let me do it this long  


* * *

Miklan  
Dont.  
I didnt know.  


* * *

**Christophe isn't upset so much as he's... actually annoyed? Like, whats the problem.**  


* * *

christopholes  
its fine  
you werent expected to  


* * *

Miklan  
So why even bring that up?  
If Id known about it sooner, I would have put my foot in the door then too. Simple as  


* * *

christopholes  
not gonna lie. dont know why i said it. just kinda came out  
but you shouldnt worry about it im alright  
itll just piss me off if i let them grow back  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah, well  


* * *

**The comment stung, even if he wont mention it.**  


* * *

Why are you acting like I'm being irrational here. Thats not normal, Chris. I know you know that  


* * *

christopholes  
im sorry. i dont mean to make you feel bad  
let me try and like. word this better, okay?  


* * *

Miklan  
How the hell are you gonna word it better? Nothing is going to make me nod and go 'thats reasonable'  


* * *

christopholes  
yikes mikitty chill  
what i mean is  
its... a habit almost. i guess?  
like if i stop it'll mean that everything i did up to this point was for nothing  
i don't think its something youre able to understand.  


* * *

**Miklan had to put the phone down for a bit. Did Mikitty piss him off in the moment? A little bit.**  


* * *

Miklan  
On a personal level? No. I dont understand  
But I still know it isnt healthy. You dont have to punish yourself for anything  
And it sure as hell wont be for nothing. You couldve said that about staying in hiding. You couldve said that  
about not reaching out to Ashe. But look how much better youre doing for it  


* * *

christopholes  
i guess you're right.  


* * *

Miklan  
I mean it  
I know it wont be easy. Youve been doing it for a hell of a long time, but  
Just remember you dont deserve that. Youve done more than enough time  


* * *

**Chris just... stares at his phone for a bit, not meaning to leave Mik on read but, not sure what to say.**  


* * *

christopholes  
okay  
thanks  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
good talk  


* * *

Miklan  
Great  


* * *

christopholes  
i got a baked potato  


* * *

Miklan  
Nice  
Ive got a delicious fuck all  


* * *

christopholes  
how hungry are you  


* * *

Miklan  
Like a 5 out of 10  


* * *

christopholes  
how bout you come get some of this  


* * *

Miklan  
I could  
Depends. Are you still at work  


* * *

christopholes  
i got off 40 minutes ago. swhy i got wendys and walked home  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck  
Alright  


* * *

christopholes  
mhmmmmm  


* * *

Miklan  
Uh-huhh  


* * *

christopholes  
apropos of nothing this wendys really abused my baked potato with sour cream  


* * *

Miklan  
Thats a warning  


* * *

christopholes  
warning me of what  


* * *

Miklan  
Dont worry about it  


* * *

christopholes  
woooowwwwwww⠀⠀⠀⠀looks good mik  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Im actually really fucking hungry. Save me some  


* * *

christopholes  
mmmmaybe  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
depends on how fast you work  


* * *

Miklan  
Terrible. Im being exploited  


* * *

christopholes  
its a transaction  


* * *

Miklan  
Watching you eat Wendys whilst I fuck you isnt a transaction  
Youre just getting dinner and entertainment in one  


* * *

christopholes  
dont i deserve that  


* * *

Miklan  
Im deciding  


* * *

christopholes  
ive deserved that for over ten years gautier  


* * *

Miklan  
Shoddy food play?  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀nvm  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
oh man  
this baked potato  
if you get here and its gone guess youre gonna have to find something else  


* * *

Miklan  
Guess Ill have to go home  


* * *

christopholes  
**babe no**  


* * *

**Fuck, Christophe didn't mean to call him 'babe,' fuck!**  


* * *

⠀u ug g mg f ??  
d od⠀⠀hd  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀??.,?  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do literally whatever you want  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I just really  
Want some potato  


* * *

christopholes  
ok you can do that  


* * *

Miklan  
Im gonna  


* * *

christopholes  
see you then  


* * *

Miklan  
Sure  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  


* * *

**Christophe flushes, and then rolls around in his motel bed feeling butterflies and**  
**feeling happy. God he hates himself for this.**  


* * *

christopholes  
hey actually can you do me a favor tonight  


* * *

Miklan  
What?  


* * *

christopholes  
would it be too much to like, help me relocate tonight and pick up my bike?  
it can be after you have dinner and dessert  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀⠀⠀You still havent got it back? I can do that  


* * *

christopholes  
ive been walking  


* * *

**Christophe types this up a few different ways before deciding how he wants to say it.**  


* * *

i didnt want to go back there by myself  
its at . my dads old house. where i last spoke to ashe.  


* * *

Miklan  
Ah. No, its alright. Ill tag along  


* * *

christopholes  
cool  
thanks,,  


* * *

Miklan  
No worries  
Hey someones fucking asking about Dixie Normous. Youre an idiot  


* * *

christopholes  
who  


* * *

Miklan  
Hell if I know  


* * *

christopholes  
is it a hot guy  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
is that a no  


* * *

Miklan  
My idea of a hot guy and your idea of a hot guy are way different  


* * *

christopholes  
do tell whats your idea of a hot guy  


* * *

Miklan  
This ones pretty hot  


* * *

**It's a picture! Of Chris. Taken in the car. He's bent at a weird angle like always, and you can see his**  
**undies.**  


* * *

christopholes  
oh?  


* * *

**Christophe blinks, examining the photo and then just, staring at the message for a while. It**  
**shouldn't... probably shouldn't make him so emotional but it does?**  


* * *

looks bony and gangly  
get better taste  


* * *

Miklan  
Dont be fucking rude. I love him  


* * *

**Christophe goes red.**  
**A**  
**𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲**  
**𝕊𝕀𝔻𝔾𝕁𝕀𝕆𝕊𝔻ℍ𝔾𝕆𝕊𝔻𝕂𝔾𝕃𝕊𝔻𝕁𝔽𝕃𝕁𝕊𝔻𝔾𝕊𝔻𝕁;𝕃𝔾𝕊𝔻𝔾𝕁𝕊ℙ𝔻𝔾;𝕁𝔻;𝔽ℍ𝔻𝔽𝟡𝕊𝕆ℍ𝕀𝕁𝕊𝕃𝔽𝔻𝕁𝔾𝕊𝔻𝕁𝔽𝔾𝕃𝕂𝕊𝕁𝕁𝔻𝔽𝟡𝟘𝕊**  
**ℍ𝕁𝟡ℝ𝔻𝕆𝕀𝕁𝕃𝔻𝔾𝕃;𝔻ℝ;𝔼ℝ𝕊;𝕃ℍ**  


* * *

christopholes  
ill be rude if i want  


* * *

**Christophe calms down enough to send... a photo of Miklan! He isn't looking at the camera. He's**  
**in the middle of smoking a cigarette, outside the window in Christophe's motel room, and by the**  
**way do his tits look impeccable.**  


* * *

now heres a man  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀Yeah?  


* * *

christopholes  
most definitely  


* * *

**Oh god, Chris wants to say it back but how does he do it.. chill like?**  


* * *

Miklan  
Good luck. His vibes look off  


* * *

christopholes  
his vibes are my favorite  
just so you know  
he makes me feel like i have a home  


* * *

**Oh... Miklan's warm.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Isnt that some shit...⠀⠀Good for you both  


* * *

christopholes  
yeah  
and  
i love him  


* * *

Miklan  
Hey. Dont tell him, or anything... because it might get pretty fucking awkward... but I think he loves you too  
Embarrassing  


* * *

christopholes  
fuck dude  
wouldnt want to make things awkward...  
but  
i might have to  
hes a real soft guy on the inside, someones gotta tell him  


* * *

Miklan  
Sounds like a real hardass  
Maybe I ought to let my guy know more often. Dont think he realizes how great he is  


* * *

christopholes  
you can. i think he's a bit hardheaded. he'd appreciate it.  
and yeah... he's kind of a hardass but  
you dont know him like i know him  
he's one of the most thoughtful, giving people i know  


* * *


	25. Miklan's Art Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe jokingly says something in the public group chat about Miklan having dicks in his eyes. Miklan gets his ass x2 and shenanigans follow.
> 
> Miklan draws some doodles for Christophe and they kincouple from Crash Bandicoot. Also Christophe punches Lorenz? A lot happens.

  
@ christophe  
  


Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
hholy shit  
pooh bear we can work this out  


* * *

Miklan  
Nah  
Got too many dicks in my eyes to see rationally  


* * *

christopholes  
oh man same hat  


* * *

Miklan  
Great. Then you wont see the bat coming  


* * *

christopholes  
should i bend over for the bat  


* * *

Miklan  
If you think you can take it without lube, go for it  


* * *

christopholes  
handle in first or wide end  


* * *

Miklan  
Its a surprise  


* * *

christopholes  
that means its sideways  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
well if i can handle you i can handle a bat so  
im unworried  


* * *

Miklan  
Only one way to find out  
Come here. Ill send you flying out the window and hit a homerun  


* * *

christopholes  
nah im gonna stay in the bathroom  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
im stuck  
you ever just get on yr phone while yr sat down on the toilet and its like. well now i can't leave til i finish this  
dr mario level  


* * *

Miklan  
No?  
Have you got fucking dead legs from sitting on the toilet for too long  


* * *

christopholes  
not at all  


* * *

Miklan  
Liar  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
NO  


* * *

christopholes  
im gonna throttle this british kid  


* * *

**Christophe is looking at the group chat and is talking about Lorenz.**  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont think hes ever heard himself speak and frankly good for him  


* * *

christopholes  
ive never wanted to spend a night in jail for knocking a kid out so bad  


* * *

Miklan  
One well aimed punch would probably kill him  
He looks like that kind of person  
You know. Reedy. Negative muscle  


* * *

christopholes  
hes a cushy trustfund baby  
i smoke cigars with more weight than him  


* * *

Miklan  
I believe it  


* * *

christopholes  
hes about to believe it  


* * *

Miklan  
What the hell are you doing?  


* * *

christopholes  
dw abt it   


* * *

Miklan  
Terrifying  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  
Trying to convince people you arent a threat is a fucking task and a half. They think youre on some creepy  
bullshit but I know youre still sat on the toilet  


* * *

**Miklan's talking about when Christophe trolls around in the group chat under that dumb moniker.**  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
i dont know man i just wanted to dip my toes back into being a person again  
i couldnt hurt a fly  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah, well. You were allowed to do that  
Its our chatroom just as much as it is theirs. We were there first, the little bastards  


* * *

christopholes  
lowkey kinda sad i couldnt say hi to mercie but its like  
thats another can of 'not dead?' worms  
the whole chat box is a pinata beating ready to happen  


* * *

Miklan  
Its nuts. Half of them have rabies  
You know...  
If you ever felt like telling someone. About you, I mean  
Mercie's not a bad option  
Shes alright  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont know if i trust stuffy, do-gooder people  
the only person ive told is someone who i think would actually understand my plight in _some_ regard  
ACAB and hates the government and all that  


* * *

Miklan  
?  
Oh my god.  


* * *

christopholes  
what  


* * *

Miklan  
I just know who you mean, is all. Edelgard? That one, right?  


* * *

christopholes  
yea  
shes chill  
sort of  
she met me at a dennys with the intention to fight but uh  
i think we were both too fucked up for that so we just left  
got drinks tho and she was cool  


* * *

Miklan  
She seems nuts  
In a good way, I mean. I fuck with that  
Youre both pretty similar  


* * *

christopholes  
apparently shes that unknown number i had in my phone for ages  
that i kept grandfathering into each and every one of my new phones  
we dont really remember how i got her number which is a funny little anecdote on its own  
there are few women id fuck and she is not one of them so i figured it was from protest days  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah? Huh  
Im gonna be honest, I dont know much about her. Except that she can eat freak amounts and lift cars  


* * *

christopholes  
no she doesnt  


* * *

Miklan  
She does  


* * *

christopholes  
ive seen the bitch shes like 2 foot negative five  


* * *

Miklan  
When has height ever meant anything  


* * *

christopholes  
like yeah she was kind of stocky but that chick cannot lift a car  
you cant lift a car  
i dont know a single person that can lift a car  


* * *

Miklan  
Shes right there  


* * *

christopholes  
now thats a conspiracy theory  


* * *

Miklan  
What is. Short women being able to lift cars, or  


* * *

christopholes  
like human beings lifting cars  
man dont turn this into a gender thing, my first choice for a human being that can lift a car is cassandra  
and you _know_ that  


* * *

Miklan  
Im not! Im just trying to figure out what the fuck youre talking about  
Its not a conspiracy, its a _thing_. Have you ever seen SCL? Those fucks lift cars like its nothing  


* * *

christopholes  
SCL?  


* * *

Miklan  
Strongman Champions League. You know, the big dudes. They duke it out every year  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont believe this  
anyways if she can lift an entire fucking car thats sick as hell  
more useful than you are  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck you  
Come back when you could punch your way out of a wet paper bag, twiggy  


* * *

christopholes  
you knowwww im kidding   


* * *

Miklan  
You better be  


* * *

christopholes  
you can lift my entire body like a bag of grapes and its quite frankly the hottest thing about you  


* * *

Miklan  
Youre so easy to pick up. Its like carrying around a monkey  


* * *

christopholes  
a sexy monkey  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
i hated saying that and you blushed anyways  
hate you  


* * *

Miklan  
Hate you more  
Sexy orangutan  


* * *

christopholes  
hate you so much  
sexy baboon  


* * *

Miklan  
Hate you more than anything  
Sexy gorilla  


* * *

christopholes  
hate you most  
sexy chimpanzee  


* * *

Miklan  
Hate you²  
Sexy gibbon  


* * *

christopholes  
now what the fucks a gibbon  


* * *

Miklan  
Idiot. A type of monkey  
Hold on  


* * *

christopholes  
hate you so damn much right now  


* * *

Miklan  
Hate you so fucking much. Goddess bless  
You look like this  
  


* * *

christopholes  
ok  
i hate your fucking guts because i _do_ look like that  


* * *

Miklan  
Give me like five minutes Im going to do something  


* * *

christopholes  
no  


* * *

Miklan  
Yes  


* * *

christopholes  
its been twenty im legally allowed to find a new man  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuckign help me  
  


* * *

christopholes  
dude  


* * *

**Christophe is laughing so hard he's just laying on the floor with his phone beside him.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Ahhhhhhhhh.  


* * *

christopholes  
mik i fucking love you  


* * *

Miklan  
Pleeease dont say that to me after I drew you over a fucking monkey  
Love you too  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont give a fat baboon ass i love you  
theres no right time to say that shit  
might as fucking well  


* * *

Miklan  
Ha. Hold onto that thought  
Im doing something else  


* * *

christopholes  
miklan anschutz if you edit yourself to be a monky i wont handle it  


* * *

Miklan  
Why would I do that  


* * *

christopholes  
i thought you were going to make us matching  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah  
  


* * *

christopholes  
you literally do look like a real ass monkohmy god  


* * *

**Christophe makes this cute doodle of Miklan his phone screen background.**  


* * *

what a pair of handsome men mik i think im nuts over you  
you are making me downright squirrelly  


* * *

Miklan  
Pfft  
Not bananas?  


* * *

christopholes  
honestly i think i am sort of monkeycore  
you may have unlocked something  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont know how I feel about that  


* * *

christopholes  
talking to you makes me feel like how the crash bandicoot theme sounds  
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4i8qAZOu5-g>  


* * *

Miklan  
Help?⠀Is that a good or a bad thing  


* * *

christopholes  
i feel unhinged but in a fun way  


* * *

Miklan  
A silly kind of feral  
Like, uhh  
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KF32DRg9opA>  


* * *

christopholes  
this just makes me nostalgic  


* * *

Miklan  
Fuck. I miss my old games and shit  
I never took them with me. Theyve probably been thrown out by now  


* * *

christopholes  
i wanna play crash bandicoot now  
im ripper roo kin  
also i know the feeling. no idea where all my old games and shit are  


* * *

Miklan  
Shut up. Im surprised you didnt say Tawna  
Kin with the one with fat tits  
Who knows  


* * *

christopholes  
and not this one? <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Py1qvUcwuZw>  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀Ok. Yeah  


* * *

christopholes  
  
you ever listen to old video game music and its like... bad. but you still like it bc when you were a kid it  
slapped  


* * *

Miklan  
Sometimes. Same with looking at old graphics  
It like, fuck, everything was so crunchy and ugly. But its great  


* * *

christopholes  
this song stinks <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAosKn2JRkY>  
  
i think i jsut modeled my entire personality after it tho  


* * *

Miklan  
It really does sound like they took one look at you and went 'we can make a song out of that'  


* * *

christopholes  
thank you so much  
youve validated my kin. i will now die for you.  


* * *

Miklan  
Cant believe Im fucking kin dating in 2019  


* * *

christopholes  
wait are you  
does that mean...  
are you crash?   


* * *

Miklan  
  
Crash Gautier  


* * *

christopholes  
wait no  
YOURE TINY  


* * *

Miklan  
Holy shit  


* * *

christopholes  
who the fuck put tiny tiger into a video game this is horrifying  
  
see cause youre big and look scary but youre actually not and you wear a green and black polka dotted loin  
cloth and high top converse sneakers  


* * *

Miklan  
Theres a lot to take in here but when the fuck have I ever worn a loin cloth  


* * *

christopholes  
im sur eyou have  


* * *

Miklan  
I HAVENT?  


* * *

christopholes  
im sure you hav e  


* * *

Miklan  
Would you still let me hit it if I wore one  


* * *

christopholes  
id let you hit it if you were in a dress  
i dont give a shit  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
is this not literally just a picture of us  
  


* * *

Miklan  
Oh my god  


* * *

christopholes  
thank you for kincoupling with me babe  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀Yeah. Any time  


* * *

christopholes  
mik  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah?  


* * *

christopholes  
ive attained moksha.  
  


* * *

Miklan  
I dont even know what to fucking say because there arent enough words in any language out there to  
describe how much seeing this made my blood pressure spike  


* * *

christopholes  
i know you criticize all of my food choices but this is legitimately so good  
i actually wont tolerate criticism this time. this time this is delicious objectively  


* * *

Miklan  
Which part of it is good. The hot dog? The cheese? The spaghetti hoops? The fucking Froot Loops?  
Is that chicken in the background  


* * *

christopholes  
those are fucking tater tots you bimbo  


* * *

Miklan  
Sorry I couldnt tell between the three pixels its made up of and the monstrosity in the center  


* * *

christopholes  
its ok i wont forgive you  
anyways the dog itself tastes good and beefy and the crunch from the froot loops is good as hell. and the  
sauce in the spaghettios offers that tang i needed. the cheese is  
actually the cheese is kind of bad  
but the rest of it is good  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
want some?  
we can eat each end of it lady and the tramp style  


* * *

Miklan  
I think I would rather eat dirt but I appreciate the sentiment in a fucked up kind of way  


* * *

christopholes  
we've been friends for twenty years and you dont want to eat this hot dog with me  


* * *

Miklan  
Absolutely not  


* * *

christopholes  
how long do we have to uh  
how long do we have to be friends then for you to want to eat that with me  


* * *

Miklan  
Maybe Ill think about it when Im on my deathbed  


* * *

christopholes  
any way i can persuade you?  


* * *

Miklan  
Nope  


* * *

christopholes  
what if i dont put out anymore  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
thats what i thought  


* * *

Miklan  
Im at my limit  


* * *

christopholes  
chop chop then  


* * *

Miklan  
Wait, will you? Whats the rush.  


* * *

christopholes  
the rush for what?  


* * *

Miklan  
Eating whatever the fuck that hotdog is  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀oh right  


* * *

Miklan  
Did you seriously forget  
Please wipe it from your brain again  


* * *

christopholes  
sorry i started thinking about dick  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
hey afk for a bit  
not because im thinking abt dick im doing something marginally more important than that  


* * *

Miklan  
?  
Are you gonna elaborate, or  


* * *

**Nope! Christophe is just gone for a fucking while, an hour or two, and then...**  


* * *

christopholes  
god human flesh on my fists is good content  


* * *

Miklan  
What  


* * *

christopholes  
exactly what i said  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah thanks for clearing that one up  


* * *

christopholes  
sometimes you just need to punch a guy  
reminds you that youre alive  


* * *

Miklan  
You punched someone? Who?  


* * *

christopholes  
his names nunya  


* * *

Miklan  
Hilarious. Youre so original  


* * *

christopholes  
  
youll be pleased to find out it was that little long nosed fuck that was talking shit in the gc  
i feel sorta bad tho. he looked at me like he'd never been punched before  


* * *

Miklan  
_Him?_  
I find it hard to believe he hasnt been punched before. I mean, come the fuck on  


* * *

christopholes  
thats what i assumed but he took a fist to the throat and started crying and ran to his room  


* * *

Miklan  
At least he wont be chatting shit for awhile. Christ though, Chris  


* * *

christopholes  
dont tell anyone but i got his boyfriends permission lmfao  
can you believe that  
if your boyfriend gives someone permission to knock your throat out, that must mean you need to get  
decked pretty badly  
thats exaggerating tho, he didnt want me to get rough with him just spook him a little but the kid tried to  
throw a mug at me  
i swear my arm moved on autopilot  


* * *

Miklan  
Ha. Dont worry about justifying it to me  
Frankly, Id knock someones lights out if they swung at me too  
Wonder if it actually humbled him any. Im not saying hes a bad dude, but he talks some real shit  


* * *

christopholes  
dude really needs some salmonella  


* * *

Miklan  
A little bit of dysentery  
You alright?  


* * *

christopholes  
me?  
ya im fine why  
_i_ didnt get punched  


* * *

Miklan  
Just checking  
Man. You must really have one of those faces that screams 'throw a glass at me'  


* * *

christopholes  
god put a kick me sign on my back when i was made. cept it says **[GLASS HIM]**  


* * *

Miklan  
Fucking Christophe Glasspard  


* * *

christopholes  
glasspard.........  
maybe thats what i should change my last name to  


* * *

Miklan  
At least its to the point  


* * *

christopholes  
something funny is that i dont actually hate my name like most people  
i think christophe is a decent name. i think gaspard is a decent last name.  
sucks that i should probably come up with a suitable name to go by one day  


* * *

Miklan  
Eh. I dont think you have to. Its been this long already  


* * *

christopholes  
i mean, i dont know if you know this but at each one of my jobs i come up with a different dumb ass name  
itd be cool to idk...  
have a static one again one day  


* * *

Miklan  
.. Yeah. I guess so  


* * *

christopholes  
?  
you guess so?  


* * *

Miklan  
Sorry. Yeah, it would be. I just know youd rather keep your name than have to pick up a new one  


* * *

christopholes  
...  
ya but its whatever  


* * *

Miklan  
If you say so. No matter what, youll always be Christophe Gaspard to me  
It is a pretty decent name  
But thats because its yours  


* * *

christopholes  
daw thats sweet  
look at you  


* * *

Miklan  
  
I think about changing my name, sometimes. Names? Just toss out the whole damn middle and end  


* * *

christopholes  
i like your name just fine  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah, well. Someone has to  
Anschutz is a damn joke and being a Gautier is like having a dick branded on your forehead at birth  


* * *

christopholes  
i like anschutz. its pretty.  
gautier is nice too if you dont think about⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀cheese  


* * *

Miklan  
See! Thats what I _mean_  
Everyone just thinks about fucking cheese, or politics, or some other bullshit  


* * *

christopholes  
well you cant get away from that  
if you think your name is so bad then think about mine  
gaspard is associated with a dead kid and his politician father that went postal  


* * *

Miklan  
You cant get away from that, either  
Guess were stuck like this  


* * *

christopholes  
...guess so  


* * *

**Christophe goes quiet, thinking to himself about his father and suddenly everything feels far away.**  


* * *

**Fuck. Goddammit. Miklan pinches the bridge of his nose. To get into it, or not get into it.**  


* * *

Miklan  
Are you back at your place?  


* * *

christopholes  
im stopped for gas  


* * *

**He waits for Miklan to realize...**  


* * *

Miklan  
What  


* * *

christopholes  
but im almost home  
i stopped to get gas  


* * *

Miklan  
What the hell are you putting gas in  


* * *

christopholes  
my bike  
duh  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
dude imagine if i had a motorcycle  


* * *

Miklan  
...  
Huh  
Im thinking about it. I think itd mostly just be scary  


* * *

christopholes  
and whys that  


* * *

Miklan  
You driving anything is scary  


* * *

christopholes  
i drive a bike  


* * *

Miklan  
Thats different  


* * *

christopholes  
i drive u   
crasy  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

christopholes  
ya like that  
anyways whys it matter where i am  


* * *

Miklan  
Just wondering  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀why?  


* * *

Miklan  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Because?  


* * *

christopholes  
mk  


* * *

Miklan  
Christ. I just wanted to know if you got back alright. Im not plotting anything  


* * *

christopholes  
thanks, then  
⠀⠀theres a um. steak and shake in walking distance from the new motel im at.  
egg nog milkshake and a garlic burger  
treats me right  
so, thats where i am  


* * *

Miklan  
Sounds pretty good  
Better than gas, anyway. Enjoy it  


* * *

christopholes  
mm ya  


* * *

**Christophe's distracted. It's fine.**  


* * *

**It's fine. Miklan doesn't really know what to say, so he just,**  


* * *

Miklan  
Im gonna go tidy up a little. House is kind of a shithole. Ill talk to you later, ok?  
Look after yourself on the way home  


* * *

christopholes  
ya   
grab those dust bunnies  


* * *

**...doesn't know if it'd be weird to start saying 'love you' at the end of conversations. Chris feels**  
**weird and gushy for wanting to, though. He just kinda... puts his phone down and goes back to**  
**burger faceplanting.**  


* * *


	26. something im not allowed to have.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holst hits up Christophe, who lets out some of his thoughts on him and Miklan and what's holding him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holst is played by my lovely friend gliss!

  
@ christophe  
  


Holst!   
  
I made dinner, u jealous or what??  


* * *

christopholes  
oh now this is what i call holly _wood_  
id put my mouth all over that shit  


* * *

Holst!   
Right? The nerds were an afterthought but I'm SO glad I added them.  
I recently saw a cotton candy machine on sale for cheap so I knew I had to buy it, it's really been a great  
addition to my meals not gonna lie  
Check this out  
  


* * *

christopholes  
what  
what the fuck is that  
did you wrap a pizza slice in spider web?  


* * *

Holst!   
No? It's cotton candy duh.  


* * *

christopholes  
its white. what kind of cotton candy is white  
im sure it tastes good but man is it spooky  


* * *

Holst!   
It was one of the first things I made with it, I didn't know how to add the flavoring lol.  
I should've made it for Halloween   
bout you, made anything recently that I should try? Any recipe recommendations?  


* * *

christopholes  
you know me  
i add froot loops to everything  


* * *

Holst!   
How could I forget! I've been meaning to try and make ur FL chicken again, hopefully this time I won't get salmonella   


* * *

christopholes  
theres only one time you need salmonella hollywood  
and thats when youre in deep need of a good humbling  


* * *

Holst!   
Why, u thinking of someone in particular? Def not me, I think both me and the goddess know I'm sexy  
without debate   


* * *

christopholes  
do i think youre sexy? without a doubt. do i think that sometimes youve got your head up your own ass?  
sometimes. thats just part of being your friend  


* * *

Holst!   
Aw shucks, thanks string bean. Ur not too bad urself!   
I wouldn't ask for a better BFF   


* * *

christopholes  
loooool   
what have you been up to  


* * *

Holst!   
Me? Busy at work all day They had me checking through reports and other boring paperwork  
Hbu? Hopefully better than mine  


* * *

**Christophe sighs. Oh Jesus Christ, where does he start?**  


* * *

christopholes  
sounds fulfilling. sarcasm pending  
been uh. having a time of it. dont know how much i should say  
dont want to talk your ear off  


* * *

Holst!   
Oh no please, go on! I'd love to hear what u did, it's a nice change of pace from me blabbing all the time lol  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀⠀ssure  
well uh.  
might as well ask, what are you more interested in hearing about, say... if i said that i was interested  
romantically in someone for once and also, i was getting bck in touch with my brother, tell me what  
interests you more  


* * *

Holst!   
Oh my gosh? Wow uh. Hm..  
Let's hear about love, u know I'm a sucker for romance!  


* * *

**_Plus that's probably easier for you to talk about.._**  


* * *

christopholes  
um  
so theres this guy  
i had it bad for a long time, not sure how long. kinda had my feelings wane for a bit just because... things  
happen right. get busy with life. or whatever youd call this  
but... we kind of fucked? and then. we also keep saying rly⠀⠀⠀gay shit to each other im sorry i mean  
legitimately gay like we're two dudes so its gay by default but you know just that.⠀⠀⠀that gay shit like  
we've even said i love you at this point  
but ill be honest hollywood i have no idea if we're dating or not  


* * *

**Goofball, you've been in contact with only ~two people for a "long time," there's not a lot of people**  
**it can be, but Holst decides to go along with it.**  


* * *

Holst!   
First off, I'm happy for you Chrissy, I think you definitely deserve something like this after you've been on  
your own for so long.  
I think if you feel comfortable enough to trade I love you's, it would be safe to assume you're dating, if that  
offers any assurance.  


* * *

christopholes  
thanks, it doesnt  


* * *

Holst!   
But, you know, it would probably be nice to make it official, y'know, buy him flowers or something,  
something nice. He's probably just as nervous as you are, babe.  


* * *

christopholes  
well uh  


* * *

**It's not like Holst and Chris speak every damn day. Christophe's a pretty scarce guy, and lately has**  
**been the most he's spoken to anyone, not just Miklan. Chris can bullshit a human being no problem.**  


* * *

we met through an old job of mine, so... im not sure how i feel about it all but  
because he's.. him, and im me. i dont think its that easy, as just saying.. its safe to "assume."  


* * *

**Okay Holst, let's not smother him.**  


* * *

Holst!   
Well, do you want to date him?  


* * *

christopholes  
yes  


* * *

**No hesitation.**  


* * *

**Holst smiles softly at his screen.**  


* * *

Holst!   
Well, I think the verdict is clear. It'll work out, it's important you took that first step, that you were even able  
to mutter I love you.   
Take your time, there's no rush into these things, and there's certainly no correct way to go about it.  
I think all you really need is time. You have the pieces, just let things connect naturally. Communication is  
important too. Hell, if you ever need an ear I'm always willing to listen, you know that!  
I'm rooting for you, big guy.  


* * *

christopholes  
ha... big guy  
i know its just cause im tall but i snickered  
thanks holst,  
i know theres no need to rush, i guess im just  
weirdly excited and also freaked out  


* * *

Holst!   
Hey don't worry about it! What's a sexy himbo friend for if not relationship advice?   
And that's definitely natural, love gets you feeling a certain way, I can promise you that.  


* * *

christopholes  
its just like  
do you ever feel like...  
you could have so much more than you already have but youre terrified of taking the plunge?  


* * *

Holst!   
Mm, yeah, I understand.   
I think..  


* * *

**_Careful here._**  


* * *

I think that if you're not willing to take the plunge, take that next step, you'll never truly be able to find  
it in yourself to be happy. Sure you can find solace in the other's body, in physically being with them, but  
will you truly be able to live with only that kind of superficial relationship?  
I think being able to take that plunge, to risk it and let yourself be vulnerable, is crucial. In order to truly find  
love, the love that you deserve Christophe, you need to be willing to take the risk and be true to yourself  
and them.  
Sure you put yourself at risk, but if it was truly meant to be and if they will truly love you, see you for who  
you are, that is the best thing one could ever really find for themself.  


* * *

**Man, who are you even talking to anymore, Holst.**  


* * *

That takes time too. Jeez, I said I wouldn't blabber so much, didn't I?  


* * *

christopholes  
hhuh  


* * *

**Chris takes those words in, thinking to himself that he wants to believe in all of that, it's just... hard.**  


* * *

you're right  
i just, fear that ill come on too strong. ive been alone for so long. the last thing i want is to just... freak him  
out.  
but, im scared. too.  
he asked me where i was today just casually, just curiosity, and... i just got so freaked by it like. why do you  
need to know.  
and i liked it. i liked hearing it. i liked... being cared about.  
but its been so fucking long. its weird.  
when someone is into you like this, like... you cant just vanish. i cant just, go stupid go crazy for two weeks  
and stop speaking, go full dark no texts  
i have to actually be accountable  
and thats hard.⠀⠀⠀its hard realizing that i have to make a change to being more healthy, to changing my  
life around  
even though i want to and i should.  


* * *

**Christophe stops and thinks it over.**  


* * *

i remember hearing somewhere that you can tell when you love someone, because they make you want  
to be a better person. like you just... want to fix yourself for them.  
i never understood that sentiment but  
i think i do now....⠀⠀⠀⠀oh god i rambled im sorry.  


* * *

Holst!   
No, no no you're fine, this is good. You're doing a lot of thinking on things that need to be thought about,  
and that's extremely important.  
You're in virtually uncharted territory with no map. You just need to take your time and go at your own pace.  
Entering into a committed relationship after everything you've been through is big, and it takes a lot to do,  
but I know you're strong enough to do it. I know that from the bottom of my heart that you are strong,  
Christophe Gaspard.  
It's fine to be scared, change is scary. I sound like a broken record but take it one step at a time. You have  
people here for you now, I'm always here to listen to you, and hell, you know Miklan will always be there for  
you as well.  
Things are going to work out, simply for the fact that love finds a way, even if it takes a while to do so.   


* * *

christopholes  
thank you so much holly.  


* * *

**He's smiling, even though this is so scary.**  


* * *

i don't know when ill... get the courage to do it. to make a move like that but  
...  
wait  
WHO?  


* * *

Holst!   
Of course Chrissy, you know I got you..  
Hm..? Did I say something wrong   


* * *

christopholes  
  


* * *

**Christophe's eyes keep zooming in on Miklan's name in Holst's text message.**  


* * *

Holst!   
Hmm? Hmmmmm? I wonder..   


* * *

christopholes  
what gave it away  


* * *

Holst!   
Don't be too harsh on yourself, I cross-examine testimony for a living lol. I have to be able to put a few  
puzzle pieces together, or else I'd be out of a job, Ms. Normous.   


* * *

christopholes  
christ holly  
god i feel awkward now i guess.  


* * *

Holst!   
Don't worry about it! I think it's sweet. There's something adorable about childhood friends getting together!  
Pulls at my heart strings.  
Oh, to be young and in love...   


* * *

christopholes  
boy if you dont  


* * *

**God, he feels weird, but maybe Chris can vocalize what he feels weird about.**  


* * *

you dont think its... strange of me, holly?  


* * *

Holst!   
What do you mean?  


* * *

**Christophe is rubbing his eyes raw and shoving cigarettes in his mouth. Good lord.**  


* * *

christopholes  
i cant remember because its been so long holly, did you know that...⠀⠀⠀⠀i had a crush on him, way back  
when? back in high school before things were weird  
it was after you and cassie obviously, im no ass but.  
you know.  


* * *

Holst!   
No, I didn't know that.  
Surely you're not blaming yourself for feelings, Chris. How could you even possibly be able to control such  
a thing? He was in a relationship, sure, but you didn't do anything to hurt them, you didn't do anything  
wrong. Life has come so far for both of you, and you're given a new chance at something old.  
There's nothing wrong with the way you feel.  


* * *

christopholes  
i guess so.  


* * *

**Chris doesn't know if he's happy or not with Holst not knowing. He feels awkward having to say it.**  


* * *

i dont know man. its been almost a decade now, it feels way too late to be having awkward feelings  
about all of this but its like. i never  
i never got to tell glenn i was alive. he went and fucking ate it for real before i could say anything. i still  
remember sobbing my damn eyes out over it too. like, if i had just come back sooner. he died thinking i was  
gone forever. and how do i repay the guy?  
take his man post mordem i guess. even tho its been. you know. fucking years and the guy is dead and mik  
has to find _some_ kind of happiness i just  
god why do i feel this way  
like theres n othing Wrong with it. i just  
feel like this is something im not allowed to have.  


* * *

Holst!   
Christophe, you can't blame yourself for that. None of us knew it was going to happen, you or Glenn. You  
couldn't have prevented your circumstance, and no one could've prevented Glenn's, despite how much we  
loveboth of you. We see only the flaws in the past because we look at it too hard, but it's just as human as  
thepresent, everything we do is flawed, but we have to continue living with that reality.  
I knew Glenn, you knew Glenn. He wouldn't be faulting you for what happened, how could he? Why would  
he be upset with you and Miklan getting together when he loved you both, he would want Miklan to finally  
be happy, he would want _you_ to finally be happy.  


* * *

christopholes  
mmm  
i spent a long time playing the comparison game, holly. it doesnt feel that easy.  
but i appreciate the sentiments.  


* * *

Holst!   
Comforting words and sentiments are about as far as I can go, Rissy, what comes next is peace you have  
to make with yourself, and that comes with time and patience.  


* * *

christopholes  
god are you sure you arent a therapist  
a fucking social worker or something  
a job with more compassion in it? youre good at this  


* * *

Holst!   
No way, me, compassion? I'm only speaking from my heart because I just care about you so much,  
goofball!  
Give that top his hole!  


* * *

christopholes  
im sorry do fucking what  


* * *

Holst!   
  


* * *

christopholes  
i had something vulnerable and sensitive to say but i actually have to go now  
i have to go give a top some hole  


* * *

Holst!   
I'm always here for you babe, remember that! Go get some!!  


* * *

christopholes  
what like⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀right now?  


* * *

Holst!   
You just said you had to go? Give a top some hole? I was only assuming you meant now.  


* * *

christopholes  
i was fucking kidding  
i think every time ive invited mik over lately it has been because ive wanted him to fuck me. or ive wanted  
him to help me out with something and also fuck me. this is becoming a poor visitation gambit.  
i need to find a hobby or something  
invite the guy over to do underwater basket weaving or watch some pirated anime on my stolen laptop.  
spice it the fuck up a little  


* * *

Holst!   
We're whores Chris, it's what we do  
Kidding aside, sorry, I think that's a great idea! I think being comfortable enough to just be in his presence  
and do nothing in particular like underwater basket weaving is really important. If you're at a loss, I think just  
hanging out and doing nothing in particular but, well, talking is always a great start, just let whatever lead  
you places.  
I'd recommend asking him to help you cook, but I think we both know it would just wind up him cooking for  
you LOL  


* * *

christopholes  
shut up i can actually cook unlike you. i just like to make fun shit that mik doesnt like  
i dont give myself salmonella.  
im humble enough as it is  
also holly since we're being whores can i just say one thing can i just say something so TMI just fucking  
gross like i have NO ONE to vent this shit to man. i cant vent about sex when the only person i talk to is the  
one im fucking  


* * *

Holst!   
I don't give it to myself on PURPOSE   
Also you know you can always talk to me about that, please. Do you even know who you're talking to? Me,  
the CEO of sex?  


* * *

christopholes  
please mister CEO of sex  
like i was on the fence on whether it was love or not but when a dude gives you dome while youre eating a  
wendys baked potato you really can't question that kind of love. thats the kind of shit that lasts for a  
lifetime.  
like when i tell you the man throws neck  
he throws **esophagus**  


* * *

Holst!   
Holy fuck? I think you guys should get married. I'm insanely jealous, I can only pray for that kind of love.  
I think I may have to retire and pass on the CEO of sex label to you, congrats, Riz.  


* * *

christopholes  
oh thank you  
what can i say  
he makes a chrissy go crasy  
god dont say shit like that tho, my heart lept out of my chest  


* * *

Holst!   
All in due time, Chris   
You just gotta convince him to weave baskets with you first! Underwater!  


* * *

christopholes  
shh⠀⠀shut up  
gonna go weave some baskets dont talk to me anymore abt that shit and sure as fuck dont say anything to  
mik about all of this, the last thing i need is that guy knowing that i freak out about him as much as i do  


* * *

Holst!   
My lips are sealed Chris, you can trust me. I know how much this means to you   
Again, I'm rooting for you both!!! Get him, tiger, you got this in the bag!  


* * *

christopholes  
nnnnnnnnnn  
  


* * *


	27. Rising Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three days and Miklan hasn't heard from Christophe. He's been known to ghost and go off the grid for weeks at a time, but for some reason, this time it feels different.

  
@ christophe  
  


Miklan  
? Hey  


* * *

  


* * *

**_Are you fucking kidding me._**  


* * *

  
@ Holst  
  


Miklan  
Hey, pea brain. Have you heard from Chris lately?  


* * *

Holst!   
I texted him like.. a few days ago about what I made for dinner. Why, is he ok?  


* * *

Miklan  
Fucks sake  
Thats why Im asking. His phone isnt in service anymore  


* * *

Holst!   
Again? Sothis Christ. I'm stuck at the office until late, maybe you can go check his motel room?  


* * *

Miklan  
Yeah, again. I might. I dont work until late  


* * *

Holst!   
Ok. Keep me posted?   


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *

Holst!   
  


* * *

**Miklan almost wants to ask something else... he doesn't, though. Goddammit.**  


* * *

Miklan  
  


* * *


	28. To be better, for me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miklan storms into Christophe's motel room. It's worse than he thought.
> 
> But things get better.

This motel room was a tad more expensive, but much nicer when Miklan helped Chris get all his shit in. A good number of the groceries Miklan had helped purchase for Christophe had been eaten, and the rest was shoved into bags and relocated to his new room. It was closer to his job at the bike shop, which Christophe typically tried to avoid, fearful of his day to day commute being too easy to follow. Once he’d been reassured a thousand times, Christophe settled in. A brand new slate for him to keep clean… or not.

Normally, two rickety chairs sit outside the little patio area beyond the motel door. One of the chairs is missing. The door’s unlocked and the room’s in a fucking state. The television’s been left on, so from the outside it probably seems as though someone’s home. It’s playing through some prison documentary and no one’s seated in front of it to watch. Littering the floor and safety pinned to some of the walls are pieces of paper—some printer, some news. If they’re examined, they don’t seem cohesive or coherent at all. Some mention Christophe’s father. Some mention completely different individuals with nothing to do with him. Things are circled in permanent marker. They make little sense and a fuck ton of mess.

Don’t look in the little kitchenette section. Paper plates are stacked and covered in… something. A baking sheet sits atop the stove with some burnt… _something’s_ stuck to it. A failed venture. All of the lights are on in the bathroom and the closet. The shower curtain rod has long since clattered to the floor. The patio chair sits in the middle of the tile, Christophe’s bummed off laptop cycles through videos on YouTube, having long since abandoned whatever the original video was as it ran through it’s autoplay feature. Something about aliens is on, competing with the noise from the television outside.

Rope is tied to the curtain rod. Rope is also tied to the rod in the closet, though this time it seems to have been made successfully into.. a hammock? There’s an iguana in the hammock, and no Christophe Gaspard.

Miklan Gautier has not been having a good week. Between the stress of falling ill and the steadily building stress of today, it’s safe to say that he’s currently on edge (though even that feels like putting it graciously). The coldness of the automated _The number you have entered has been temporarily disconnected, changed, or is no longer in service._ is not something he’s unused to hearing given his track history of yearning for the ghosts of men, but something about receiving it this time had felt… foreboding.

Perhaps it’s the conversation that they’d left off on that makes Miklan feel _odd_ , the way Christophe had been out of character and unwilling to talk, or perhaps it’s everything and everyone combined to create a greater looming concern; Christophe moving, Christophe being back at work, Christophe talking to people and inching ever closer to some semblance of normality. Miklan isn’t sure _why_ he thought the healing process would be linear. The whirlwind of emotional euphoria had temporarily blinded him, foolish as he was to be swept up by it. As he reaches the motel parking lot, the wistfulness of it is only hit home all the more, rose tinted glasses turning ever murky, cracked.

He goes to knock— and realizes very quickly that there’s no need for it. The door is ajar. It makes him frown, and he has to take a deep breath before he cautiously pushes the door open with the pads of his fingers. The fact that it’s a fucking _mess_ hits him instantly, managing to toe a weird line between barely lived in and _overly_ lived in. As he reluctantly moves inside, the dissonance of it all makes him wince. Where the fuck is the tv remote? The light switch? The notes on the walls and scattered across the floor mean nothing to Miklan besides the odd flash of _Lonato_ or _Red Liberation_. He finds himself reaching down to pull a paper off the sole of his shoe more than once as he walks from room to room. 

“…Chris?” Nope. Not in the kitchen. Just stacks of garbage nestled between homemade garbage. It makes him go _ugh_ , and he has to slam the door behind him as he moves onto the next room. “Christophe!” The bathroom is… just as bad, if not worse. The chair strikes him as fucking bizarre. The iguana- what?- makes him double take. But it’s the shower rod and the rope that sends the first flush of hot panic through him, his mind momentarily wandering somewhere dark. It’s a panic that doesn’t subside after he connects the dots, even after he rushes back into the main room to stand there hopelessly, helplessly. He’s clenching his jaw when he finally slams the lid of the laptop shut, hoping to drain out at least one source of noise so that he can _think._

_Where the fuck are you?_

Christophe Gaspard just needed to breathe. His life is permeated by a continual sense of suffocation, from the powers that be, his own helplessness, or the simple care and attention of others. It’s not… unwanted. It’s merely confusing. It’s something Christophe is afraid of and wants more than anything else. He doesn’t want to smother Mik. More than that, he doesn’t want to be too much. It’s easier to vanish. He’s done disappearing acts for nine years now. He’s good at them… maybe too good at them.

Most people aren’t aware of just how he gets when he goes on these benders. He always cleans himself up. He always gathers himself back up when he’s done going a little bit wild, a little bit out of sorts. No one else has to be privy to the way he lets it all go for hours and days and _weeks_ at a time. Not until now, he guesses.

Chris bikes back to his motel room, spotting Miklan’s car positioned haphazardly in the lot, like he’d really paid no attention to parking it before hopping out of the damn thing. Christophe’s frown widens. _Oh no._ The place is a mess. He can’t have Miklan over when everything looks the way it does. He’s got a bag of some groceries and other things in his arms when he pedals up to the door. Unceremoniously shoving his bike up against the brick walling of the motel exterior, Christophe cracks the door open, peering inside like a stranger, like it’s _Miklan’s_ residence and not his own.

And ough… does the place seem so much worse when he’s imagining someone seeing it for the first time. Christophe cringes, spotting the man standing there. And he says, gently enough, “Mik? I wasn’t… expecting you to come by.” _Because that’ll explain this, right?_

Miklan’s head whips around not at the creak of the door, but at the sound of a familiar voice finally cutting through the static. It’s soft. It’s casual. It should have been comforting, except it isn’t; it makes his brows furrow and his nostrils flare as he inhales sharply, debating whether he wants to verbally or physically smack Christophe upside the head for daring to be so nonchalant when he’s clearly so stressed. He’s… alive, then. Whether or not he’s _well_ is another matter entirely, though Miklan highly doubts it if the state of his living space is any reflection whatsoever of the man’s internal processes. Even if Christophe has always been somewhat of a slob, this seems excessive and outright bizarre. He can’t bring himself to feel any more than fleeting relief for it. 

“Your phone was disconnected.” He says bluntly, tone steely. _I’m here because I couldn’t reach you any other way._ He doesn’t bother moving from the spot when he jabs a finger in Christophe’s direction, voice finally raised in frustration and to be heard over the drone of the documentary. “What the fuck is going on in here? This place is a _shithole_ , Christophe.”

Make no mistake—Christophe’s apparent nonchalance was not truly representative of how he felt. It serves as a defense against what Christophe knows to be true: this place is a pigsty, but the more he behaves as if it’s business as usual, maybe Miklan will follow and believe that it is. Sadly, even Christophe, sucked down into these obsessive states can tell that he’s went and spiraled again. Going dark on everyone was purposeful whether he thought so or not. Consciously accidental, subconsciously deliberate.

Miklan’s body language suggests something frightful, and Christophe flinches backwards in a way he feels angry with himself over. _Miklan isn’t going to hurt you, stupid._ Maybe a memory from a long time ago goes and flashes through his head. Whatever the case, Christophe’s eyebrows leap up his forehead and he holds his hands up in faux surrender, his grocery bags sagging down his arms and hanging from the crooks of his arms.

“I… Miklan, what’s the _issue_?” Miscommunication’s a bitch. If Miklan had mentioned feeling fearful, feeling worried, feeling _anxious_ then Christophe could surely understand. Instead, Christophe is hearing judgement over his living space and Christophe bites his tongue. Not for long enough, because then he says, “what the fuck is it to you, Mik? I didn’t know you were coming over. I would’ve cleaned the place up.”

Miscommunication _is_ a bitch. Sadly, it occurs often with Miklan. He isn’t the type to be outright about how he feels, not without a little prodding and poking here and there like a bull being flashed red. Irritation always seems to be the default for him, and it’s been that way for a long, long time. Still, he doesn’t think his anger in the moment is unwarranted - he has every right to be a little on edge, especially when the next response comes and Christophe backs away like he expects something Miklan would never dare to do. His brow twitches. “What the fuck is it to _me_? I haven’t heard anything from you in days. Your phone’s disconnected, _again_ , and I walk in to a bomb site when I try to find you.” _It’s worrying_ , is what goes unsaid here. It’s not the motel room by itself; it’s the everything surrounding it.

He narrows his eyes, head tilted condescendingly. “You don’t think that’s a problem at all?”

Really, when it comes to shit like this, you could knock on the side of Christophe’s head and hear a hollow _thunk_. He couldn’t have brain cells if he tried. On the subject of his life and the way that he lives it, Christophe’s perpetually in denial over all of the details and whether they really matter. They do, but he’d be the last to admit it. Even as Miklan carries on, Christophe can’t get the picture beyond what he’s terrified of: change. _Good health._

“A problem? I…” Where the fuck does Christophe even start? “Did I miss something, Mik? Did something change?” He’s tugging his grocery bags off of his arms and dropping them with a clank to the ground. Some cans spill out. Christophe’s typically dopey face is now etched in something dreary, dark. Not angry, just… strangely distant. “When did I start having to check in with you?”

It isn’t meant to sound mean. Christophe’s puzzled, frightened. The sound of his own voice isn’t lost on him, though. Moments after it leaves his mouth, Christophe bites his bottom lip, cringing a bit as he throws one palm into his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, I just…” God, are they dating now and Christophe just didn’t realize? What a fucking asshole of him. Christophe sighs and says, “I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

The exasperated expression momentarily slides into something hurt, doubtful. Not so much of Christophe, but of what he, himself, is saying. Demanding. _Is_ he in the wrong for chasing him up like this? It’s not as though Christophe owes him anything, not really. It’s not even the first time Christophe has faded into the background. He spent an awful lot of time doing that during their youth, a habit of which only got worse, got uglier and more frequent, after his supposed ‘death’. Miklan should be accustomed to it- and he is, in a sense. But it had hit him at some point during the three days of radio silence that he doesn’t _want_ to be accustomed to it any more. Falling off the grid periodically isn’t normal, as much as it may be for Chris. Miklan bites the inside of his cheek and allows some of his usual stubbornness to seep back in so he can hold his ground.

“Fuck’s sake, Chris. You don’t have to check in. That’s not…” He runs a hand over his jaw and it comes to settle over his mouth thoughtfully, worried. “I’m not trying to take over your life, here. You know I’m not like that.” Miklan isn’t a control freak, as often as he worries about coming across as clingy and needy. He’s about as lax and low maintenance as they come in the relationship department. But…

He’s staring at the grocery bag when he finally says, plainly, “I’m not disappointed in you. I was…” The frown deepens, like he’s annoyed with himself for feeling. He has to pick apart frustration and bullshit to let slip, “Worried about you.” Why does he feel so stupidly childish for admitting that? _Idiot._

Miklan’s face does a gentle transformation into something that hurts Christophe’s heart. Now the both of them have their hands on their faces and Christophe winces when Miklan starts up with defending himself. Christophe runs his bandaged fingers across his coat sleeves, clinging at them in the way he’s so afraid of anyone else doing. Miklan says, _you know I’m not like that_ and Christophe finds some urgent part of his brain say, _it’s okay if you are_ in direct defiance of every thought and feeling he’s thus far expressed.

Really, when they’re no longer bickering at one another over particulars, Miklan’s frowning, scowling gently and looking like a ten year old when he says that he’s… _worried._ How could Christophe really get pissy over… being loved? Of course his room looks like fucking trash. Miklan is right. Why does he feel like he has the right to be shitty over it?

And the thought hits him at once, that he’s not saving himself he’s just fearful and lost. Lost lost lost lost. Like he’s always been.

“Hey, Mik…” His voice croaks out, rough from cigarette smoke and a sudden ache that fills his throat. He steps closer and, if Miklan doesn’t shy away from it, he reaches to take his hands in his own. It’s as much of a placating gesture for himself as he wants it to be for Miklan. “Mik, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I didn’t think…” God, as soon as he goes to say it, he knows how it’ll sound. He cuts himself off at the pass. “It’s not that I think you don’t care about me, I didn’t think… I don’t know. I thought it didn’t matter. I thought…” _I didn’t matter._

Christophe keeps his eyes down. “Please, don’t worry. I—I just forget to clean the place up sometimes. My head gets a little cluttered and I guess, so does everything else.”

Christophe takes his hands and Miklan doesn’t fight it, drawn to the physical contact despite his lingering annoyance. He has to swallow a lump in his throat before he can bring himself to glance up, focusing on a cluster of freckles across his cheek and the bridge of his nose instead of making eye contact.

The sudden honesty comes as a surprise. Once it starts pouring from the other it doesn’t seem to stop. Then again, Christophe has always been more of an open book than he has. The Gautier boys are avoidant liars, dancing around what’s really on their mind for as long as possible and then some; Christophe and his siblings, less so. “Yeah, well…” He starts, voice quiet and awkward. It means more than he can express to have his irrationality soothed, intentionally or otherwise. It helps in general to be reminded that he’s not always in the wrong, that it’s _okay_ for him to… well, feel. 

“It does.” A pause. “I don’t know. It never used to bother me, but…” For a second he’s talking to himself more than he’s talking to Chris, parsing through his own thought processes. “The last time we spoke, it left off in a weird place. You seemed out of it. Then a couple days pass and your phone isn’t in service anymore, so I…” Thought something had happened. Miklan grimaces, side eyeing a wall plastered in notes. “It’s not even about the room. Not really. It was just startling. The door was unlocked, everything had gone to shit. Hard not to assume the worst.” _You already died once. Who’s to say it wouldn’t happen again?_

“I care about you more than I do some clutter,” he says, gently squeezing Christophe’s hands. It’s a tender move for someone still scowling, as Miklan perpetually seems to be. “That’s whatever. We can clean it.”

Relief floods Christophe’s scarred palms the moment Miklan takes them, and his chest squeezes in reply. It feels comforting, despite their earlier quarreling. Miklan won’t look him _directly_ in the eye but… Christophe knows that eye contact is hard. It isn’t something he’s terribly fussed over. More than anything, Miklan’s got this unsteady look in his eyes, a wavering voice like he’s embarrassed to express this sentiment at all and Christophe sort of understands why. Between the two of them, Chris’s best quality has probably been his inability to smother his emotions. He knows Miklan’s done this out of survival, out of necessity. When your feelings aren’t treated as if they matter, you choke them down. Christophe doesn’t want him to keep quiet. He moves closer to him, listening all the while.

Miklan grasps Christophe’s hands tighter and he shudders some in place, silently. He tries not to show it, not to be weird about it but hand touches are… nice. He averts his eyes too, to the mess everywhere and the blaring television that he’s dying to turn off now but, he doesn’t want to let go of Miklan’s hands. Christophe links his fingers with Miklan’s until they’re in a gesture that really… can’t be construed as anything _but_ cheesy and romantic. Probably. Christophe interlocks all of Mik’s fingers into the spaces between his own until their palms touch, and he says, “I don’t need you to clean up after me all of the time.”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out. I mean it when I say if I knew you were coming by, I would’ve… ensured it didn’t look like this. I didn’t want you to see me… like this.” And really, the both of them look embarrassed and awkward now. Christophe grimaces as he kicks his foot absently, shoving some papers against the carpet. “I have a lot on my mind.” What an understatement.

“Uh… Yeah. I know.” It’s not that Miklan feels obliged to scurry around after Christophe and pick up any messes, more that he… likes to. It makes him feel good to help someone for once, all the more so that it’s someone he actually cares about. In the eyes of a lot of people, Miklan is the primary cause of destruction and mess. Doing the opposite for a change feels like the most wholesome of _fuck you_ s. Even though that particular thought process dies on his lips, the ghost of a smile at their fingers lacing together certainly doesn’t. For a split second it makes his chest feel warm.

Then, he shakes his head. “I said, it’s fine. You know I don’t… I just wanna make sure you’re alright. You don’t have to duck away from me when you’re ‘like this’.” Is what he settles on. In a roundabout way, the only ‘good’ thing to come from this was that he’d been able to peek into a side of Christophe that had previously remained a mystery to all. Nobody quite knew what Chris did when he disappeared for days, weeks on end. Now, he does. And it’s… saddening. A cause for concern. It’s a lot of things; all he can say for certain is that it’s not something he wants to be brushed under the rug.

Christophe moves closer and Miklan silently leans forward to rest against Christophe’s chest, cheek pressed against the cool material of his coat when he says, “Talk to me.” _Vent, ramble, be as vague or as detailed as you want. Help me help you._

Miklan’s words ring true, silver and lovely. His existence to many is a clatter and a bang, broken plates or glass. It isn’t fair, Christophe thinks, when he’s being rested against like this and Miklan’s offering him all the same comfort as a warm cup of coffee, a gently jingling windchime. If anyone knows the kindness that Miklan is capable of, it’s Christophe Gaspard. Miklan’s single-handedly done more for him than probably any other person out there. It strums at his heart-strings, yanks and twists them to know that he doesn’t fancy himself to be even a tenth as useful to Miklan, as good to him, as necessary… _Whoa._

Christophe closes his eyes suddenly, his head clogging with thoughts that only serve to deepen the ditch he’s in. It’d be nice if he could stop hating himself for two seconds long enough let literally anyone inside to help him. That’d be glorious. Miklan insists that Christophe just say something, work on getting even a little bit of it out, and Chris is terrified of sounding crazy. Maybe once it leaves his head, it won’t make any sense. Maybe it never did.

More than anything else, the sentiment that he doesn’t have to ‘duck away’ when he’s feeling off has him weak in the knees. How much of the room did Miklan see? Did he really inspect every inch of this place and somehow… not think, _hey, this one’s defective, send it back?_ Did Miklan really not decide right then and there that he wanted someone else? That he didn’t want to put up with his stupid shit anymore?

Cringing, Christophe plants his face against Miklan’s head and says, “I started thinking about my dad a lot.” Family shit’s weird. He doesn’t like to talk about it in front of Mik, but, he guesses this time at least he was asked to talk about it. “I’ll never be able to see him. I started… thinking what if I steal someone’s identity, what if I’m able to…”

Lots of dark ideas, horrible thoughts followed those sentences in his mind, lead to him cutting out men’s pictures from the newspaper and printing them out from a local library with the use of their printer. Even then, his thoughts are… _disorganized._

“I don’t know what I was thinking for half of it, Mik. Sometimes I’m not thinking about anything at all. Some days I spend hours doing nothing at all, or wake up to realize I’d been talking to a shadow on the wall. Thought the kitchen sink had something to say. Broke my phone because a number I couldn’t recognize was calling it, and I thought someone was trying to find me. I couldn’t sleep in my bed because I thought someone put a camera in my room but it was fine in my bathroom or closet. Some other… fucking stupid thoughts, I don’t know.”

The longer he talks, the more _angry_ he sounds, with himself and nothing else but… then he sighs and shies away from Miklan, turning his head to the side. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Christophe undoubtedly does a plethora of stupid shit, but not once have relapses factored into that count. They’re concerning and frustrating, sure; never a source of embarrassment or chagrin. God, aren’t they all messy in their own right? He doesn’t think Christophe is irreparable, or weird, or broken— not in the slightest. None of this is or would ever be enough for Miklan to drop him like a hot coal and move on to someone new. There’s nobody else he wants, for starters. Nor is there anyone else he feels such a strong urge to devote himself to in the long haul, not since Glenn. Christophe is a brilliant man with an unforgettable presence, ridiculous humor and all, and if recovery is to be a project, it’s going to be one they work on together. They’ve already made it this far despite the bumps in the road.

And so, Miklan listens. His brows are drawn together and his lips are pursed as he takes in what Christophe is saying. It’s all so disjointed and it makes his stomach twist to know that his head is so… loud. Christophe is typically so insouciant that simply glancing at him would never give anything incriminating away. For the first time in awhile, pieces are starting to click together. The disappearances, the changes in behavior leading up to it - if thoughts like those are behind it every time, Miklan doesn’t blame him for hiding away. The world is overwhelming at the best of times, let alone without spikes in paranoia and delusion.

He eases his head away just enough to look at him clearly again. The anger and quiet shame on Christophe’s face prompts Miklan to unlace one of their hands, bringing it to his cheek instead to gently goad him into looking. Eye contact (or the lack of) typically doesn’t bother him. Here, he feels it’s important.

“Hey…” There’s so much Miklan wants to say, to suggest, except he can’t. It’s clear there’s something underlying going on. But a man with no identity cannot see a psychiatrist, cannot see a doctor to be medicated. And, fuck, that hurts to think about. It must hurt for him all the more. He’s smoothing his thumb over his cheek in small circles when he says, “You aren’t fucking stupid, Chris. I don’t blame you for being frustrated. But it’s not your fault. You shouldn’t… be ashamed of it.” Of yourself. “Has it always been like that?”

It’s a silent wish when Christophe turns his face away, hiding in the only way he possibly can when they’re still linked carefully at the fingers: that Miklan would continue to reach for him. It’s one he’s not aware he’s holding in his heart until it happens, until his hand is to his cheek, and then Christophe finds his lungs caught by the look in his eyes. Eye contact is weird, hard for the both of them depending on the day, but whenever Miklan manages to lock eyes with him, Christophe feels as though they’re the only two people in the whole entire world.

The only two people sitting in a bummy old car. The only two people sat in a warm sushi restaurant, in a shitty motel room by the highway, in detention shooting the shit, in one another’s arms. Christophe has always hoped somewhere in the darkest parts of his chest that Miklan would look at him like that, like he was the only one, and he’d long since given up on all of that when life became a whisper, a handful of burning fingers and burning federal documents. Miklan looks at him like he’s got something worth saying, a person worth being, and it makes every problem seem so small in comparison.

_How can I sit and whine when I have him?_ When Christophe has him, he feels like he has everything.

Christophe’s face softens up, his eyes scanning over every level of Miklan’s face, almost scared of the honesty, the adoration that he finds looking back at him. And the question… he bites his lip and says, “it’s been this way for too long, but… I don’t wanna stay that way, yeah?” Breathe in, breathe out. He closes his eyes and calms himself down, voice a murmur in comparison to how it’d been when explaining the crazed cacophony his head becomes at the worst of times.

“I know I have to change, though,” he says, recalling his conversation with Holst. “Being with you makes me want to be better, for you, because you deserve…” _Wait._

Christophe’s face lights up, electric pink and it dawns on him what he’s saying. Fuck, he’s assuming. Fear. Disaster. Fuck shit, hell. _Help._ “Uh… b-because…”

_Goddammit, just let it be. You’ve already went and said it._

There’s an unspoken relief, pride, when Christophe faces him and returns that attentiveness rather than fighting against it by further shying away. Every moment that they connect like this makes something spark inside of him, further reignites something that he thought to be long gone. In many regards, Christophe and Miklan are drastically different and worlds away in nature. Opposites attract had very much proven true in their case (almost comedically so in some instances). However, there are odd moments that the two of them seem to sync and simmer down to the same wavelength; now is one of them. 

“Yeah… ‘Course you don’t want to. You don’t deserve that.” Nobody does, certainly not when their support net is so limited. Miklan waits until Christophe reopens his eyes and has presumably steeled himself until he continues with, “I know there’s not much you can do like this. But we’ll work around it. Promise.” Somehow. He’ll figure it out, whether it’s something as small as doing a little reading around, or as big as seeing if anyone with some connections would do him a favor or two in the way of getting advice. 

He goes to continue, but Christophe does first and what he says leaves Miklan speechless, dizzy. He wants to believe that he means ‘being with you’ as in being here now, _obviously_ … Except he can’t play it off as that or feign ignorance, because Chris is rapidly turning pinker than their dear lawyer friend. Fuck. What. The question they’ve both been so desperately avoiding comes onto the table again, laid out raw and bare for both to see: _Are we dating?_

Miklan’s eyes dart away momentarily, more flustered than anything else. “I…” He can’t tell if Christophe regrets what he let slip, if he’d rather Miklan continued and pretended that it never happened. All of this is so complicated. He feels inexperienced, despite being anything but. It’s embarrassing. It’s intimidating. It’s romantic. Love is weird— but not unwelcome, even if it’s not quite like in the movies. 

“Do you…” He’s floundering, he knows he is. Miklan’s hand slides from Christophe’s cheek down to the corner of his mouth, thumb brushing against his bottom lip, chaste. “Want that?” 

_To be better, for me? To be with me?_

_Fuck goddammit son of a bitch tit fuck._ **Goddamn.**

Christophe feels as though he’s experiencing nuclear heat death all over his body. Typically whenever he feels especially embarrassed, he’s never directly in front of anyone. It’s easy for him to roll around in his motel bed, twisting his legs in the sheets and getting hot in the face when no one’s around to witness it. Now that Miklan’s face to face with him, Christophe is finding it hard to not utterly freeze up. It’s only marginally made better when Miklan’s also stuttering over his words. _Does this mean… he’s just as confused?_

That has to be it, Christophe thinks. “You… um…” God, neither one of them know what the fuck they’re doing, do they? That’s somehow comforting. Christophe follows where Miklan’s eyes go and he sweats. His freckles are alight with his searing blush and Miklan’s hand against his face is burning. Christophe wants him nearer and when the question is posed, he can’t tell if Miklan does or doesn’t want that… or what _that_ is.

Reaching up to take Miklan’s hand once more, holding it against his jaw, Christophe decides to answer to all of it. “If… uh…” Christophe closes his eyes, finding it’s hard to keep the eye contact for this part. “I’m sorry if that’s not something you can do, if… I started thinking that this was something that it wasn’t.” _Oh, guess something else came out._

“I just… think that you being around makes me feel like I can do more for myself. That’s all.” _That’s all it has to be._

The more Christophe continues, the more Miklan understands. Tonight has been a big success in the way of revelations… not that all of them were necessarily pleasant to hear. This, though? It feels good, even if the drum of his own heart makes his ears ring. It’s a scary prospect, confirming your feelings, or at least daring to call it what it supposedly is. It’s one thing to fool around, to spend hours together, to… Oh, for fucks sake. They really are obvious, aren’t they. If they had an audience, no doubt people would have grown frustrated with them long ago. But it’s not that Miklan is being purposefully stubborn for once in his life, or spiteful in playing with Christophe’s feelings, more that… barriers linger in his head, ugly and ever daunting. _You can’t love again. You’re not allowed to love again. Look at what you did to him._

But Miklan is tired. Of the hurt, of the loneliness, of purposefully holding himself back- and for what? Glenn wouldn’t want that for him, not really. Christophe will never, ever be a replacement for Glenn, nor would Miklan ever treat him as such; the two are their own unique beings, each with different stakes in Miklan’s heart. Maybe it is guilty for him to want to let someone in for the second time, but… 

Christophe moves his hand, warm flesh against warm flesh, and it clicks in his mind that this is what he’s been craving. He’s wanted it since Christophe took him so sweetly, since it dawned to Miklan that Christophe’s presence in his life has become so irreplaceable. He’s quieter when he says, “You make me wanna do more for myself, too. You have, even. I don’t… know what kind of person I’d be right now if you hadn’t stood by me.” Bitter. Miserable. Isolated.

“I want… you to be happy. I want to be happy, with you.” A pause. He clears his throat. “If, uh. You’ll have me.” _Please._

Christophe’s already had the discussion with Holst, the weird wonderings, the feeling as though he’s stealing something out of the tomb of a dead man, as though Miklan’s heart is something that’s allowed to be haunted forever. The more he thinks about it, the more unhealthy it sounds. It feels only proper to leave Miklan and his love for him where it was founded, in the past where it can die so as not to rob his friend’s grave. But in truth… what Glenn had wanted more than anything on this earth was to make Miklan happy and as long as Christophe does just that, is it really wrong of him to want this?

Miklan is his own person. He can make decisions all his own. Most of the guilt Christophe feels is over his own lies and mistakes, having not been around for Glenn’s final moments out, being trapped in a hell of his own making during the time that the news had aired. Really, there’s nothing good about Miklan belonging to the past. There’s just always a subtle insecurity in Christophe’s heart. There always will be when someone is taken, not abandoned. There will always be a part of Christophe that knows that he could never have this chance unless Glenn was gone. They would’ve been together forever, wouldn’t they? Moved away and settled into a little townhouse of their own with a picket fence and a dog by now had he lived, wouldn’t they?

_It hurts._ It’s why Christophe says what he does, that if Miklan can’t do that, he doesn’t blame him. Chris knows he can never be who he’s not. He’s not especially pretty. His body makes sharp shapes and he’s clumsy as they come. He’s not very wantable. It makes sense if Miklan doesn’t.

It makes his heart stop when Miklan says he does, and it’s as though the ground beneath Christophe’s feet has turned to clouds and he’s fearful of falling. He fastens his grip tighter to each of Miklan’s hands. His eyes are wide, glassy, almost as if he really hadn’t expected to hear those words. They can’t be too surprising, maybe not from anyone else’s perspective. He just knows how hard this journey has been for Mik, and he knows the love that he once had, how Christophe himself idolized it so. To be told by the only love of his life that he wants to be happy with him, Christophe feels split second panic at the thought that this could all be dream.

The words die in his throat, but he thinks them louder than thunder: _I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m in love with you, please have me, please take me, please think that I’m enough._

Breath hooking on the thoughts, he inhales with a shake that rattles his whole body and then he grins on accident. It just fits itself on his face without meaning to when he says, “I’d like that. I really… I want you, Mik. I…” He feels tears coming and hates it. God, why does he cry so much? He really doesn’t want to. He wraps his arms like cellophane to Miklan’s shoulders so he can’t see. Never mind that the man has ears.

“I want to be with you, I want to keep you company for as long as you want me around. I do. …I…” Christophe bites back that crazy little phrase for as long as he can, sniffling instead and saying, “I’m so happy you want me.”

The momentary silence that sits awkwardly in the air between them makes Miklan nervous and self conscious, hands clammy in Christophe’s grasp. For a split second, he’s worried that he said the wrong thing; that it was actually him who’d gone and ruined it all by misinterpreting the entire situation, even with Christophe reluctantly voicing the same sentiment only a few minutes prior between quiet apologies. 

But then Christophe smiles at him, so dorky and so very _him_ that it makes his heart skip a beat beneath his jacket and the fabric of his shirt. _Oh._ The words that come tumbling out afterwards are sweet and like music to his ears. Before he knows it he’s smiling back despite himself, so suddenly and so unapologetically that it makes faint laughter lines frame his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He’s a little giddy - but that’s okay. He hasn’t felt like this for a long, long time. No words are possibly enough to describe the sensation of reciprocation, the way it feels like the world is occupied by them and only them, that the hotel room is filled with fireworks as opposed to static and distortion. Miklan swallows and, “Y-Yeah. I…”

Thoughts are disrupted by Christophe wrapping around him, obscuring his face. Miklan only pulls him closer. He doesn’t think it’s possible but, by god, if he isn’t going to try, fingers gathering in the fabric of his coat as the other cries. “You’ve kept me company for this long. I’m not letting you go anywhere any time soon.” And he means it. Not now, with his arms wrapped around him so tightly. Not in the future. His voice is muffled and laced with nothing less than love when he says, “You have no idea how much I want you.”

“You’re all I’ve thought about lately, stupid.”

Miklan’s smiling back at him and Christophe feels like he’s being rewarded unfairly, like he’s just went and made all of the worst decisions and somehow been allowed to get away with it. It’s criminal, how amazing it feels, seeing Miklan beam up at him. It’s enough to make Christophe bounce on his toes. If he were _absolutely_ certain that Miklan was prepared to catch him, Christophe might’ve leapt all over him in that moment, spider monkey cling and all. Instead he just jitters, a pleasurable sensation enveloping him as Miklan grips him close. It’s hard when Christophe’s already suffocating Miklan with his own maddeningly tight embrace, smothering him with the fur from his jacket.

_You have no idea how much I want you._ And Christophe shakes his head, babbling into Miklan’s shoulder with as much coherency as he can manage. His voice is thick with the emotion, overflowing with love, with excitement, with the same feeling you get from seeing a finished puzzle. That level of satisfaction lines his throat when he says, “I don’t, I don’t know but I want to. I want to know how much you want me. I want you to know how much I…”

_Fuck it.⠀⠀⠀Spider monkey time._ Christophe presses his weight into his arms and shoulders, holding fast to Miklan, hopping up until he can hook both legs around his waist. Miklan will catch him. He trusts him with that much, even if he gripes and bitches about it, which he very well might do. Wrapping all around Miklan completely, his face pressed against his neck, Christophe delights in the soft tickle of Miklan’s slight fuzz, growing in at the corner of his jaw. It makes him look and feel rugged, _sexy_ , Christophe snickers at the thought. Christophe _giggles_ of all things, holding on so tight with his stupid little hyena laugh held at bay so as to not ruin the scene.

And he says, “you’re all I’m ever thinking about, you’re perfect, _perfect_ , wonderful, good to me, mine,” all whispered and so, so fond.

“Hey-!” In a shocking turn of events, Miklan doesn’t bitch or gripe, doesn’t do much but let out a quiet _oof_ that fades into a breathy laugh as he’s positioning his hands at the back of bony thighs, hoisting him up with a practiced ease whilst Christophe rambles sweet nothings against his shoulder. Christophe is so _light_ , so endearing in how he wraps himself around him completely in an all consuming hug. It’s a level of excitement and affection he’s never seen from him before, but one that he hopes to continue to grace his sights for years to come. He wants to keep making Chris this happy, wants the tired, nervous look in his eyes to be replaced with the contentment now washing over them in waves.

He mumbles, “I want you more than anything in the damn world right now.” It’s honest, it’s fond, it’s _excited_ in that quiet, electric sort of way. “Your laugh, your smile, your scruff, your humor, _you_ , all of you, even the bits you hate.” He’s kissing the side of Christophe’s head once, twice, just a few more for good measure, unfazed by the tickle of loose hair and the way he still seems to be vibrating in his arms like he’s about to leap out of his skin. Something about all of this has opened a flood gate inside of Miklan, prompting affections to spill like grain from an overturned bag. “I think about you all the time. First thing in the morning, last thing at night. How you are. What you’re doing. How much better I’d feel if you were…” _There with me._

Miklan stops long enough to bounce him, adjust his grip. “I love you,” the tone is sincere, sturdier than his previous stream of consciousness. 

Christophe says ‘ _mine_ ’ and Miklan says ‘ _Yours_ ’.

Oh, Miklan’s laugh makes Christophe gets goose bumps all over as he cradles him and holds him close. It never ceases to amaze Chris. It might just be his favorite thing about Miklan—just how fucking _strong_ he is in comparison to Chris. He’s really just a childhood stick figure that got older, somehow three dimensional but not much heavier for it. He’ll quite literally never get tired of being carried around by him. It feels so lovely, being cared for, being carefully handled. Fuck, his heart feels like it’s shivering and splitting open on every little thing that Mik does. He can hardly contain himself. For a pretty chill guy he sure has his berserk buttons, whether it’s setting off a violently contagious laughter, searing rage, or whatever _this_ is. Boundless mirth, he supposes.

And now, Miklan’s peppering him in love and applause of everything he is, kissing his head delicate, with fervor, with excitement and making Christophe jitter in his grip, grinning all the while. He’s never felt like this before, never been treated so kindly, so special. Christophe realizes far too late that it’s been so very long since he’s felt special to anyone or anything. He’s alight with fire and joy. He murmurs in a laugh, “shut uuuupp,” like he can’t possibly get any more red in the face.

Miklan tells him that he wants every bit of him, that he’s always thinking of him, that he’s the beginning and end thought to his day. Christophe’s never fancied himself to be anyone’s bookends, let alone Miklan’s. He adjusts himself too, lifting himself up on Miklan’s shoulders some as Miklan fixes his grip. Christophe then, is hyperaware of the television and how it’s turned silent on him. He doesn’t need to turn to see why.

He knows that once Netflix has played enough of something without any input, that black screen will appear, asking if anyone is still watching the program. Christophe is not. Christophe hasn’t been in hours. Finally the television checked itself out. Somewhere in all of the lovely conversation, in the heart-to-heart happening, it got so much quieter, but Chris hasn’t noticed it at all until Miklan says those words. He’s frozen stiff in time, gazing down at Mik with big, salty tears gumming up Christophe’s eyelids, and fuck is he mad about it. Goddamn him for always making him cry like this. Sooner or later, he’s going to start being made fun of for this. Really, he isn’t the type to do this so often but… things are happening.

Christophe can feel his life being uprooted, being completely flipped around and starting itself over. It’s hard. It involves a lot of heavy feelings. It makes him feel more vulnerable than he’s been his whole life. The first few months of 2011 were the worst time in his life. It almost feels sometimes as though he’s never moved on from that place, those first few motels, those rainy street corners. So many feelings are aching inside his fragile body.

But, these are happy tears. These are the kind that bring healing. Christophe feels like he can’t breathe when he mouths back the words, “I love you.” He takes in a deeper inhale and says, “I love you so much,” and for the first time in nearly a decade, he really believes it: he won’t ever have to be alone again.

He leans his head down and presses his forehead to Mik’s. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

As scarred and roughened by life as the pair of them are, something about all of this is so ridiculously soft in a way that they never thought to be achievable. Christophe, chewed up and abandoned by a world blind to his existence, his thoughts, his needs. Miklan, with happiness dangled just out of reach since birth, ripped away the moment he thinks he has it in his grasp like a toy on a string in some cruel game.

The years had not been kind to them, dishing out loss after loss after loss. The death of his first love had left a hole in his heart that had steadily crumbled ever wider with each passing year. It was an ugly thing, all consuming, that left him bitter and so determined to sabotage whatever remained of a human being inside the man known as Miklan Gautier, the very name spat from those who knew him in shame and disgust. And yet… Christophe makes him feel some semblance of wholeness, of humanity. Kickstarts that drive to move towards betterment in a way that so few had compelled him to do. He wants this. He needs this.

Fodlan does not love them, but they love one another. Right now, in this moment, he can’t possibly imagine himself being satisfied with any other outcome. 

“I love you- you’re loved. Don’t forget that.” Never, ever, ever. It’s swift when Miklan carries him over to the bed, falling down on the edge of the mattress as though weightless, Christophe balancing against his knees with no regard for the sharp angles so that he may release his hands and wipe at the tears pouring down his cheeks, swipe them from beneath his eyes. Christophe always has been one to cry from euphoria. Miklan thinks he’s oddly beautiful for it, between the underlying desire to tease him lightly. “You don’t need to thank me,” he breathes, cheeks lightly flushed. He’s pulling him down gently to place a kiss to his lips, warm and loving. It makes him shudder. “Loving you’s not a chore.”

In this torn apart room looking like a tornado ran through it, so many pieces of Christophe scattered near and far, Miklan holds Christophe close anyways. It’s as if all the clutter and the mess doesn’t matter. Not as much as keeping the man who made the mess safe. It’s startling to Christophe how Miklan moves from radio static, the inability to say those four letters in the flesh to uttering them over and over, until Christophe finds himself drunk on the praise. It goes straight to his brain. He nearly topples over when Miklan settles them down upon the bed. He shivers. He wobbles on his lap.

With Miklan’s hands smearing the tears away, speaking soft, voice like candy floss in Christophe’s ear drums, Christophe can’t stop grinning. It shines from ear to ear. His palms press up against Miklan’s shoulders. He returns the kiss and nearly hates the way his body palpitates at the touch. He lets go of a deep, lovely sound that sounds slipped out of his throat, like a secret he’s been keeping. Christophe’s clinging tight to him, mumbling, “I love you too, I love you so much… Loving you’s an honor.” And hell does he mean it.

Christophe rejoices in the feeling of his fingers roving through Miklan’s locks. What sensation he _does_ have in his digits, they delight in the touch, and Christophe’s snatching Miklan by the sides of his face, kissing him ardently. His temperature rises under his parka. He flattens his weight to Miklan, shoving him down and moving their lips together as though he’s going to die at any moment. Maybe he will, if Miklan keeps telling him these things.

At this rate, they’re both going to die. At least they’d go out happy, or some other cheesy and vaguely morbid sentiment. Despite the plethora of sweet things that have left his own lips without issue, being told that loving him is an _honor_ makes the heat rush to his cheeks unabashedly as he pulls Christophe downwards by the front of his shirt to deepen the kiss, eyes squeezed shut at the remnants of nicotine on his breath. _Fuck_ , it feels good. Not that their sessions prior hadn’t— only that there’s more weight behind their movements, this time. More passion, whether it’s through their connection in the moment, or through finally absolved doubts and anxieties that had been lingering in the forefronts of their mind prior.

Miklan knows he wont have to worry about where they stand afterwards. It’s comforting. It’s motivating. It’s… pretty hot, actually. 

Hands that had previously wiped away tears are now shamelessly and hungrily roaming Christophe’s body, snaking up the back of his coat to palm at his ass through off-white jeans. Miklan is a man on a quiet mission, though not so hastily that it leaves no room for objection. The earlier sentiment of _you’re mine_ runs through his mind. Funny how something so sweet can have wildly different connotations no less than ten minutes apart.

Safe to say, Christophe did not think that getting laid was in the cards for him during _any_ portion of this visit. He woke this afternoon with a garbage hang-over and a head full of loose thoughts that splattered themselves all over his motel room in the worst way imaginable. Somehow, the room doesn’t turn Miklan off. Somehow, this meeting turned into everything he could’ve wanted: he knows exactly where he and Miklan are. Christophe reaches to hold onto him, squeezing his hands around the fabric in Miklan’s shirt, and he has the certainty that even if he lets go, Miklan won’t go anywhere. And he won’t go anywhere either.

God, Christophe’s such a talker. He wants to open his mouth to say more, to lavish Miklan in more love, more compliments, more language. He’s always been the chattier one between the two of them when it comes to his feelings, when it’s what he feels in his heart. The moment he thinks that he can get a word out, though, Miklan’s groping at him and his mind blanks. He mumbles into his mouth as he moans, “I love you, I love you so much—” And it may sound repetitive, but every sound carries deeper, _richer_ meaning every time it comes out of him.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he says, breathless and smiling, unable to stop even a little laughter while they’re tangling themselves up like this. Kissing Miklan a bit roughly, he whispers into his jaw, “and you can have me whenever you want me.”


	29. Lied Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Miklan and Christophe celebrate their new relationship, Miklan goes off to work. In the meantime, Christophe cleans up the motel room as best he can and texts Ashe.
> 
> They discuss his living situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ashe is rped by my friend sabel!

  
@ ashe  
  


christopholes  
  


* * *

ashe  
hholy ffucking shit  
thank you sso much for this but who in the world is this!  


* * *

christopholes  
oh shit sorry  
its chris its⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀bröther  


* * *

ashe  
oh my god  
thank you so much for the lööps!  
did you⠀⠀get a new phone number?  


* * *

christopholes  
yöu're sö welcöme  
and ya  
sörry aböut that. i dö that a löt. im tryna stöp. sö its easier för ppl tö reach me.  


* * *

ashe  
that’ll be handy, i think. keeping a number, i mean.  
then you can send me lööp pictures much easier.  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
söööö  
im doin some changes.  


* * *

ashe  
yeah? what kind?  


* * *

christopholes  
gonna get a stable number  
should get a stable address too but, that sort of stuff is hard. i dont know how much you know or can infer  
about my situation but. kinda cant put my name on a lease. im living the only way i really can right now.  
it wont be that way forever tho  


* * *

ashe  
that’s really good. i think that’ll be really good, chris.  
i’m rooting for you, alright?  
if you need any help, i might have some ideas. emphasis on might, though...  


* * *

christopholes  
thanks little man. im planning on making this whole⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀talking to me thing a bit easier  
if thats even a thing i can do  
id love any advice tho not bc i want you to fix things for me. just cause ive missed having your input  
youve always been sharp as a tack  


* * *

ashe  
i’m happy to help you, you know. i really am.  
i know your situation is really difficult... i don’t know it as well as you do, but i still want to help you if i can.  
if you need advice, i’m happy to try.  


* * *

christopholes  
thank you so much mwah mwah .. itll be ok  
the things i need help with are hard to help with  


* * *

ashe  
what do you need help with right now?  


* * *

christopholes  
uh  
i. sorta dont know where to start.⠀⠀because a lot of things involve being a person⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀which i am not  


* * *

ashe  
no, just like....  
you said you were looking for a stable place, right?  
do you know where you’re gonna go?  


* * *

christopholes  
um.  
i don't yet. i just moved to a new motel and im chillin. if i want to get a place i might have to get a roommate.  
one that is okay with letting me stay there without my name being on the lease.  
something most renters... dont like.  
if the landlord shows up and im there it'd cause problems for them. thats all ive got.  


* * *

ashe  
do you have someone like that you can stay with?  


* * *

**Christophe is sitting here wondering how to answer that. Especially now that him and Miklan are**  
**uh, dating. That's a thing that's happening. That's hard to answer.**  


* * *

christopholes  
i mean i know people ya  
not sure if i can ask that of anyone tho. im kind of a handful  


* * *

ashe  
i think it's worth a shot, if you know someone you could stay with... having a place for yourself is really nice.  
somewhere to really come home to, you know? but if you really like your hotels, i wouldn't want to dis you  
for that.  


* * *

christopholes  
i dont  


* * *

ashe  
you don't like them?  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀no  
i just decided  


* * *

ashe  
okay... then you shouldn't subject yourself to them.  


* * *

christopholes  
dont tell anyone else that, its a trade secret   
but its what ive gotta do for now  


* * *

ashe  
don't worry, i won't.  
you don't have anywhere else to go...?  


* * *

christopholes  
i mean  
people have asked me before if i wanted to move in and ive always said no  
be kinda silly if i asked now  


* * *

ashe  
it's not silly, christophe. it really isn't.  
even if it was, i don't think "silly" is enough to discredit you when it comes to this.  


* * *

christopholes  
youre probably right. im just embarrassed  
i dont need you to worry over it tho, ill get it figured out  


* * *

ashe  
worrying kinda comes with the territory. i think you know that.  
no one's gonna think less of you for asking for help. i promise.  
honestly, i think any of your friends would be really glad to help you out.  


* * *

christopholes  
i mean ya but youve got your own stuff going on  
dont need my little brother trying to fix my shit for me, what kind of dude would i be then  


* * *

ashe  
well, what kind of guy would i be if i left my brother to fend for himself, right?  
helping each other out of sticky situations and stuff is what family is for.  


* * *

christopholes  
true true  
im supposed to be the one helping you out tho  
guess i kinda choked on that front  


* * *

ashe  
it's not like you'll never have another chance.  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀ya⠀⠀yr right  
you havent had my froot loops chicken yet  


* * *

ashe  
your what?????????  
wait, jesus. hold on.  
i think sylvain told me about this.  


* * *

christopholes  
i had to grab a picture  
  
wait huh  
how did⠀⠀⠀⠀ _sylvain_ tell you about this?  


* * *

ashe  
yeah ! that thing! i've seen it.  
apparently his brother sent him a picture of it.  
sylvain was complaining 'cause he didn't know how all the colors mixed together would've been green.  


* * *

christopholes  
damn someone replicated my recipe???  
i knew i shouldnt have posted it online  


* * *

ashe  
yyou really posted a recipe for froot loops chicken?  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  


* * *

ashe  
can i ask you something?  
sorry, that's such a scary thing to say. it's not a scary thing, i promise.  


* * *

christopholes  
na im not scared go ahead  


* * *

ashe  
um, so. you know miklan, right?  


* * *

christopholes  
ya i kno who he is  


* * *

ashe  
no, i mean, like ... you mentioned you'd talked to holst and another person. the other person is him, right?  
i'm sorry if that's a really scary thing to like, hit you over the head with. i just want us to be upfront about  
everything.  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀yea  
its mik  
sorry i didnt say before  


* * *

ashe  
it's okay.  
i just didn't want to dance around that anymore, so i'm glad it's out there.  
miklan and i spoke a little while before, that's kinda how i figured it.  
not about you, or anything. just about my birthday stuff.  


* * *

christopholes  
im really sorry  
i mustve looked like a right jackass if it was that easy for you to figure out  


* * *

ashe  
a little. it kind of hurt my feelings, but it's alright.  
i don't want to dwell on all that too much.  


* * *

christopholes  
fuck im sorry ashe  
mik's just special to me. hes one of the only people that ive been in regular contact with for a long time. i  
didnt want to repay his kindness by tossing him under the bus  
i know hes lied all this time about knowing im alive but it was at my behest so like. dont be upset with him  
just be upset with me for making him do that  


* * *

ashe  
i'm trying not to be mad at either of you.  
it's okay, chris. i get it.  


* * *

christopholes  
like its okay if you are  


* * *

ashe  
i mean... i don't want to pretend i'm not mad at all. i am.  
but i'm not _pissed_ , or anything. i'm not gonna snap miklan's neck the next time i see him.  


* * *

christopholes  
honestly if anyone could snap his thick neck i think itd be you but i Dye Grass  


* * *

ashe  
i wouldn't! even if i wanted to, i wouldn't. and i don't.  


* * *

christopholes  
that was just me commenting on how much of a hardass you are  
in a good way  
its a compliment  
in some ways i think youre tougher than _me_  


* * *

ashe  
haha. well, i guess miklan should watch out.  
i think we're tough in different ways, chris. but that doesn't mean you're not tough.  


* * *

christopholes  
guess so  


* * *

**Christophe just feels like dog shit. Like wow, lied again. Lied a bunch more times and got found**  
**out every single time. Maybe he should knock it off.**  


* * *

ashe  
are you guys close?  
if you are, maybe you could stay at his place for a while.  


* * *

christopholes  
we're pretty close yea  
i wouldnt⠀⠀want to burden him with that  


* * *

ashe  
something tells me that he's the kind of guy who would tell you to buzz off if he didn't want to help you  
out, so.  
if you ask him, and he says yeah, then you know it's not a burden.  


* * *

christopholes  
ok youre right  
the truth is actually i think if i asked and he said no id feel⠀⠀bad.  
also thats.⠀kind of fast.  


* * *

ashe  
fast?  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
like  


* * *

**Shit.**  


* * *

a big change⠀⠀all at once.  


* * *

ashe  
i guess so. i don't mean to push you.  
just...  
i don't want you to be stuck in a situation that makes you unhappy.  


* * *

christopholes  
ashe⠀⠀youre sweet  
ill be ok, i just cant ask that kind of thing of him  
i know you think you know him but i really couldnt  


* * *

ashe  
no, i don't know him.  
you'd know, not me.  
just take care of yourself, and stuff.  


* * *

christopholes  
...did i just upset you?  


* * *

ashe  
no! no, you didn't.  
you're right, is all. i don't know him well enough to assume anything about him.  


* * *

christopholes  
its a sweet suggestion, im thankful for any input you give  
im sorry  


* * *

ashe  
what are you sorry for?  


* * *

christopholes  
not following your advice?  


* * *

ashe  
chris, you're a grownup.  
i can tell you what i think all day long, but in the end it's up to you whether you feel like it's right for you.  
i want to help you, but i'm not the boss of you.  


* * *

christopholes  
i guess. i think i just feel bad whenever someone goes out of their way to try and help me and i dont follow  
the advice. im really prone to doing that.  
dont think im good at telling when im making the right decision  


* * *

ashe  
you know your own situation better than anyone. so, you know better than anyone else if advice is good for  
you.  
i can't really give you much educated advice if i don't know what's going on with you, exactly.  


* * *

christopholes  
... yeah  
youre right  
thanks  


* * *

ashe  
i do still really want to help you out where i can, though. i hope you know that.  
if you need me, i hope you don't hesitate to reach out.  


* * *

christopholes  
im going to try not lying every other word out of my mouth to you in hopes that itll make things easier  
because it really hasnt been working  
and say that id rather eat a plank of plywood than ask you for help. not because of anything youve done  
but because of some weird pride thing ive got going on  
i know youre not thirteen anymore and youre fully capable of helping me  
i just dont know if i can accept that kind of help from you  
you dont need my garbage on your plate  


* * *

ashe  
well... at least you're honest about it.  
what are you gonna do, then?  


* * *

christopholes  
handle it on my own if i can  


* * *

ashe  
does that work?  


* * *

christopholes  
fucks that even mean  


* * *

ashe  
well, you went from saying that if you got a place, you'd want a roommate. and now you're saying you can't  
have a roommate.  
i'm just wondering what you're gonna ... do, about that.  
does tackling this by yourself work?  


* * *

christopholes  
did i say i couldnt have a roommate?  


* * *

ashe  
you keep saying you don't want to burden people... and then handling it on your own.  


* * *

christopholes  
ok i see what yr saying now  


* * *

ashe  
yeah?  


* * *

christopholes  
ya  
im sorry ashe im being difficult  
ill figure it out  


* * *

ashe  
i'm not mad, chris. you don't have to apologize to me.  


* * *

christopholes  
ya well  
i cant seem to be able to tell when youre upset at me or not  
so i apologize anyways  


* * *

ashe  
i'm sorry...  


* * *

christopholes  
⠀⠀hey dont apologize  
now what are you apologizing for  


* * *

ashe  
for making you feel like i was mad at you.  


* * *

christopholes  
you didnt  
you just. do that thing where you try your best not to show when youre angry  
which means i cant to anything to help or address it when you are  
might as well apologize for everything then and hope that some of the time i actually manage to get it right  


* * *

ashe  
i don't want to make you guess at anything. if i'm mad, you're gonna know.  
trust me.  


* * *

christopholes  
mk  


* * *

ashe  
no, really...  
you shouldn't have to guess how i'm feeling.  


* * *

christopholes  
its not your fault  


* * *

ashe  
i mean ... conveying my feelings properly is my responsibility.  
even if i don't mean to, i shouldn't make you feel like you're walking on eggshells.  


* * *

**Christophe is tired. He leaves this message on read for a bit before replying.**  


* * *

christopholes  
dw abt it  


* * *

ashe  
... okay.  


* * *

christopholes  
ill check in with you again soon.⠀⠀you can message whenever you want. if you dont, thats fine too.  
love you  


* * *

ashe  
i love you too, chris.  
be safe, okay?  


* * *

christopholes  
you too  


* * *


	30. already my home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe and Miklan come to a conclusion.

God. Okay. It’s darker out than he’d like it to be when he finally returns to the motel, even if Miklan is typically no stranger to working late nights and into the early hours of the morning. He, himself, hasn’t been drinking (duh), though the scent of alcohol and smoke lingers against his clothes and skin all the same, as is the standard for Ruined Sky.

Usually it doesn’t bother him any, returning so late and scruffier than he’d began - if nothing else, it keeps him preoccupied, gives him a surefire guarantee of passing out the moment he arrives home and finds himself within proximity of the bed or couch. Today, though? Dragging himself up and out of bed a second time was like torture, made all the worse by a quick shower and a less than satisfactory shift, time that could have been sent relishing in freshly spilled feelings. Miklan is glad to be… well. He supposes it’s not home, not quite. A cheesier thought flashes through his mind as he’s fumbling for the door handle, fighting against frost and his own cold hands; _home is where the heart is._ That’s never a statement he’s found particularly true until as of late.

The door opens, finally, and Miklan is quiet when he shuts it behind himself once more, sliding the latch over for his own peace of mind just as much as Christophe’s. “Hey,” it sounds tired, and he’s kicking his shoes off with his heel to leave them by the wall. He leaves his keys on the windowsill. “Miss me?” He says. You know, like a bastard. Despite the exhaustion etched onto his face, there’s still a smile in the moment reserved for Chris and poor humor.

After _all of that_ , Christophe lets himself sleep in a bit longer, unfettered by any fears about what any of this could mean. He’s already been told a thousand times, reassured on the particulars, reminded in more than just one language that things are okay now, that things are changing but in a way he’s ready to follow. Setting an alarm and rising when the sun’s all set, Christophe got a head start. When Miklan steps through the door, a few things have changed: the biggest offender to the kitchen is the water everywhere from washing a baking sheet and letting the sink have it’s way against it’s surface.

Other than that, the television’s off (and unplugged), and all the lights are off excusing the one in the closet he always keeps on. It helps him to not see scary shit. He’ll be a grown man with a night light until he’s old and gray. For the first time since he’d put the hammock up, Christophe’s asleep in his own bed. The papers have been collected, neatly piled off to the side as if he’s sorted them out but… isn’t finished with them yet. 

All in all, apart from the two trash bags that are full and tied, sitting by the door and waiting to be taken out, the place is loads better. Christophe’s hair is stringy, clean and wet and matted into the pillow his head is conked out on. The bed beneath him has actually managed to be made? He’s passed out on the bed until the sound of Miklan’s voice alerts him to wakefulness. Christophe blinks up the velvet of his voice, wrapped up in a towel around the waist, the glitter of his speckles tasting the open air.

“Hwuwaahu…?” Christophe smiles lazily. “You’re back.”

As his eyes blink and adjust to the low, warm light of the room, the state of it all comes as a surprise to the redhead. This time? It’s a welcome one. The first thing that hits him is how quiet it all is. Then, that the floor is no longer scattered with papers aplenty, which now sit to the side, organized if not discarded. It’s so much easier to think and to live in an environment like this. He can only imagine Christophe agrees. He’s ashamed to say that concern and doubt had initially lingered in the back of his mind when Christophe had promised to clean up, envisioning him passing out the moment the door clicked shut; now, he’s nothing short of impressed.

“Finally.” He exhales through his nose in place of an exhausted laugh, casually shaking off his coat to be hung up before padding over to the bed in his socks. “It looks so much better in here,” he remarks as dips down to plant a kiss to Christophe’s damp forehead. In hindsight, maybe it was a little selfish of Miklan to assume the other would already be awake… Although he does look strangely cute, between the lazy smile and the bleary remnants of sleep in his eyes. There’s a part of him that feels obliged to offer a gentle, “Sorry for waking you.”

Christophe really hadn’t gotten any sleep prior to Miklan coming over and witnessing the grand state that everything had been in. In the time that Miklan had been out to work, Christophe took his care to clean and to drop by a Walmart to replace his checked out phone. The reason he’s all knocked out on the bed probably has something to do with his last text convo, to Ashe and about things hard to say. Just the thought of being cooped up in somebody else’s home is scary to conceptualize, but the more he sorts through the money in his wallet, the more he feels as though this is an inevitability. This has to come to an end soon. Sleeping whenever he’s stressed won’t actually fix anything.

Getting forehead kisses from Miklan? That might just fix a couple of things. Whatever the fuck is messed up in his brain, the creature in there seems to take well to the affection. Christophe sits up, taking a bit of care to adjust his towel so he’s not quite flashing Miklan. Not like either would care at this point, but he’s not in that kind of mood. Considering he _is_ the other 80%, might as well make that obvious.

“I uh, don’t have any clean clothes,” Christophe says, hyperaware of the pile in his closet. He’s neglected so many chores in his whacked out state of mind. Reaching for his new phone and wiggling it around before dropping it back down to the bed, he yawns and wipes some rheum from his eyes, saying, “replaced this, won’t let that shit happen again.”

And he doesn’t say it but he’s happy to be awoken. Christophe wants to talk… if he can get it out. Everytime he glimpses up at Miklan’s softer face, taking in the sound of his worn out laugh, his casual comfort, Christophe finds himself feeling at home, a place and thing he lost long ago.

“It’s fine,” Miklan says, and he means it. Frankly, the neighbors will probably be happy to be spared the sound of a washing machine going off at ungodly hours of the morning, especially after the combined drone of a television and a laptop and Goddess knows what else for the last few days. Miklan would debate giving Christophe some of his clothes to borrow just to preserve some decency, but it’s not like he’s carrying any beyond the ones on his back… Not to mention he doubts Christophe would fit spares even if he did. When lined up, their body proportions are so different that it’s almost hilarious. Miklan, shorter but stocky. Christophe, taller but reedy. It makes the concept of boyfriend shirts borderline comedic. Because that’s what they are, now. Right. Boyfriends.

“Oh, yeah? That’s big.” He’s picking up the phone and turning it over in his hand as he ushers Christophe a little, taking a seat down beside him to swing his legs up onto the bed. “Very chic.” Miklan’s just teasing. Cheap as the phone may be, at least it’s not a brick. They’re resilient, sure, and they may have good games, but they’re also a fucking nightmare to use. 

More than anything, the thought of being able to contact Christophe whenever and wherever without wondering if the phone will be in service comes as a great relief. 

He rests his head against the headboard with a huff of contentment. The phone is dropped back onto the mattress so that he can pat Christophe’s free hand. “Proud of you for getting so much shit done while I was out.”

This phone isn’t completely the end for Christophe. Maybe one day he’ll be a person, or he’ll be able to share a phone plan with someone else who can put their name on the contract. Maybe he’ll be able to play those cool games on his phone and use apps and all that. Really, when he hasn’t had a single piece of smartphone technology since the dawn of its inception, since around a decade ago, the thought is tempting to him. The least he can do right now is have one that won’t change. That’s as simple as keeping it on, and Christophe can keep it on now, right?

As Miklan gestures to himself, Christophe remarks to himself that yeah… he can keep it on. If he feels like running away, like isolating, he can just go to Mik. That’s what he’s there for, Chris decides in his head. That’s what boyfriends are for.

Boyfriends. Ough. He shivers pleasantly.

Christophe’s seemingly unfazed by the small bits of humor, not too despondent in tone or behavior but visibly dimmed, lost in thought, maybe. He crawls across the bed to settle himself his head in Miklan’s lap. His hands are unbandaged and it hasn’t been long so really, you’d have to inspect them enough to tell, but Chris has left his hands alone. The black bits have started to heal. Some inches of scar tissue are beginning to show signs of print again, but they should be so warped by now anyways that they resemble someone else’s. Christophe closes his eyes content to use Miklan as his pillow. In a voice typically reserved for sex with strangers, he says, “put your fingers in my hair.” It’s funny to most people, how he’s able to tell other folks what he wants when he’s in the mood to be vocal. He doesn’t say it harshly though, just very matter-of-factly. He feels safe here with Mik.

And, “thank you,” he says finally to all of the praise thus far. “I worked hard.” Christophe shivers at the touch to his hand. It’s pleasant. It’s okay.

“I spoke to Ashe.”

It’s remarkable, how casual this all is. All the more so how it just feels… right. Like they’re the two final pieces of a puzzle that had been left untouched for years being slotted into place, thought to be beyond completion. He has to quirk a brow at how straight to the point Christophe is in his demands, though he’s pinching his nose teasingly before running his fingers through wet hair all the same. It’s drying gradually in his lap against the air, the beginnings of Christophe’s usual fluff starting to make an appearance. 

There’s another surprise. Not necessarily the bad kind… he hopes. “How’d that go?”

Christophe nuzzles Miklan, closing his eyes and wrinkling his nose up with the ghost of a smile crossing his face. It’s cozy enough here that Christophe could pass out here entirely without warning, if not for the anxiety in his head that needs bleeding out. Knowing that he has someone willing to listen makes it easier. Christophe melts beneath Miklan’s fingers, massaging against his scalp.

“It went,” he says bleakly. Might as well get into it. “He’s happy I’m making changes. He wants me to get a place.” A place is pretty vague, but considering the situation, Miklan can guess at it pretty well.

“As far as money goes, I could be living so much better if I didn’t live in a motel.” They’ve _just_ gotten together today, and Chris isn’t itching to invade all of Miklan’s space. That kind of behavior is bound to scare the shit out of him, or so Christophe is certain.

So, he says, “gonna see about finding a roommate.”

Them having a conversation at all is good, Miklan thinks. Ashe isn’t the type to explicitly tell you to fuck off… but still, speaking in full and being up front is an achievement. It shows clear improvement from their first meeting, in which Christophe had apparently fled so fast he barely had time to collect his bike.

“You’d have a hell of a lot more cash in your pocket if you did, to be fair.” He agrees with a slight shrug. Weird how the younger brothers seem to have more wisdom than their elders, sometimes. “I think having your own space would be good.”

He’s expecting Christophe to pose an entirely different question… so he blinks in surprise when he doesn’t. A roommate? Miklan sounds somewhat skeptical when he says, “Would you be comfortable with that?” Even with the money incentive, living with a complete stranger is daunting at best.

Miklan surely doesn’t need to tell Christophe that. So much of his money is pissed away on a little piece of shit room when he probably afford a place of his own. Groceries are hard to come by when he’s lazy and he eats out most often. Ingredients are fucked off on meals barely edible, though that isn’t as much of a problem as people make it out to be. Christophe can stomach every meal he makes. But… “yeah,” he says simply in reply. He’d have enough to actually save if he had a house. Christophe could buy nice things if he had a house.

He isn’t too concerned with having his own space. He’s grown accustomed to his one room homes. A big area to be accountable for would probably freak Christophe off. Sometimes the idea of belonging to a home feels frightening, a trap as much as it is a safe space. It’s responsibility and Chris has only ever wanted to be responsible for himself. But… he guesses if Miklan’s with him now, that’s part of the deal-- being responsible for each other. Taking care of each other.

And then, “no,” he says, unable to work up the energy to lie. “It’ll take a lot of… it’ll be new to try and trust somebody else, trust them enough to either not ask questions or not tell stories. As long as they let me stay without my name sitting on the lease and I can pay for myself, it should be fine.”

_And I can’t ask you for this. I can’t burden you._

_Should be fine._ That room for doubt makes even Miklan mildly concerned, so he can’t imagine how daunting the prospect is for Christophe himself as the one living that reality looming over his head. Hoping is all well and good… but ultimately there’s no guarantee that someone will be willing to keep the secret, certainly not if they’re unaware of the stakes at hand. It makes Christophe sound _suspicious_ to not want his name on record, and most homeowners don’t want suspicious in their space, no matter the amount offered in bribe. One small disagreement or wrong move on Christophe’s end, and they’ve got more than enough fuel for a spiteful, petty retaliation.

Miklan grimaces at the thought of unpleasant outcomes. _Don’t._ “I guess.” It doesn’t sound particularly enthused or hopeful, as much as he wishes he could muster up the emotion. He’s proud of Chris. He is, really. To voice the desire at all is immense. It just scares him to think that such a large leap forward could lead to such a huge knock back if he doesn’t land on his feet correctly.

He simply twirls a lock of white hair around his finger, smooths it out again, watches the water drip from it. “You could…” Hesitation. Miklan doesn’t know if they’re yet in a place where he can make such an offer. To share a living space would be the natural progression of things, wouldn’t it? True, they’ve been together for no less than a day. But they’ve also known one another for a lifetime. It’s less weird when you aren’t strangers learning to get accustomed to eachother’s ways. Under any other circumstance, he’s sure he could have waited to voice the question. But with the monetary urgency, they don’t have time to be taking it easy, feeling things out to fall in line with societal standards. He frowns.

And so Miklan says, quickly, embarrassed, like he had to force the words out, “Move in with me.”

“When… your stay runs out here, move in with me. It’s not like I don’t have the space for it. My name is already on the lease, so yours wouldn’t have to be. It’s not perfect, but… We can…” _Stop rambling, for God’s sake._

Christophe… isn’t mentioning this because he wants Miklan to offer. If anything, he’s assuming that won’t happen. Christophe’s blissfully unaware of the fact that he denies help more often than not, only asking when he’s got nowhere left to turn. It’s why three months turned into three years. It’s why he never lets anyone in. He rejects the help he needs. It makes sense that people have stopped asking. When Miklan comments, _I guess_ , it rubs Chris the wrong way but he doesn’t say a thing. He could never know what Miklan’s thinking.

It isn’t until Miklan runs those words out of his mouth, like he’s kicking them out of his house that Christophe considers the thought, and considers that really… Miklan might want him around as much as he claims to. That’s a… novel idea. After seeing the havoc he can cause on his own first hand, Miklan would want…

“You’d want that?” he asks, glancing up at Miklan with a genuine leap of the eyebrows. Christophe frowns, though it’s not in rejection. He almost resembles some smaller creature, something not so gangly and… twenty-six, and he says, “I don’t want to invade your space. I don’t want…” In an almost comically opposite motion to what he’s saying, Christophe scrambles into Miklan’s lap, bodily this time and wraps his arms around his neck, clinging close like he always seems to want to do when wracked with sudden emotional weight.

“I know you like having your own space,” Christophe insists. “…Just, the thought that you’d even offer is so sweet.” _I’d love that but do **you** want that?_

He opens his mouth to continue the train of thought, though finds himself stifled when Christophe climbs into his lap in a move reminiscent of the leap from earlier, hands hovering awkwardly all the while.

Contrary to what Christophe might think, having someone be _that_ at ease around him is comforting and affirming more than it is a nuisance. How many other people would cuddle up to him without first fearing the consequences? Would look at him sincerity as opposed to fear, disgust, or shame? Miklan catches the way people double take at him, the way their movements become so stilted as they fight against pre-conceived notions of his character. It’s not like he can blame them. Miklan was just as bad as they feared, once upon a time. And yet.. being treated with such fondness is a welcome change, every single time. It’s that lack of restraint that makes him feel less beastly. He figures it’s just as comforting for Chris as it is for himself.

“You, uh…” Miklan shifts, hands finally settling on Christophe’s back. There’s a short burst of disbelieved laughter. “Are you kidding? You already know how I feel. You wouldn’t be invading anything.” If Christophe has invaded anything, it’s Miklan’s headspace. He’s enraptured. “I do. Having strangers in my house is shit. But it’s you. You don’t bother me. Besides…”

“I’d feel better if you did. You said yourself that you aren’t comfortable with roomies, and I don’t trust anyone enough not to blab their mouth off the moment they’re slighted.” He admits sourly, spilling some of that earlier thought process. People are fucking _annoying_ , a fact that he knows all too well. He’s speaking against Christophe’s shoulder when he says, “Not worth the risk.”

And then, “Unless you… don’t want to.” Fuck. “It was just a suggestion.”

If he could rest all day long in Miklan’s arms, in his bed, just inches away and always within reach, he would. Clambering over to him is what he does in his head every time things feel too crazy. He isn’t the type to run to venting but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t text Miklan whenever he needed the picking up. It’s these thoughts that make Christophe realize already what he wants. It’s so simple, isn’t it? He already knows what he wants, and as it turns out, Miklan wants it too.

These coincidences have _gotta_ stop happening, he thinks to himself, funnily. And he goes a bit quiet just resting on him, just breathing in the scent of a long night’s shift in a hole in the wall bar. For a lot of people, the smell of cigarette smoke and booze could never be home, but to Christophe it reeks of the unwinding soul, the things people consume when seeking a distraction, seeking pleasure or seeking home. The scent of it on someone else is comfort. It’s just one more reason the two of them are probably made for each other. Who else could think so?

“No,” he insists, “I do.” And for a while he doesn’t elaborate, just lays placated in Miklan’s arms as though he’s gone to sleep. The subtle inhale of his lungs are his only movement. Miklan’s touch against his bare skin is lovely. He could do this every day. He wants to, despite the fear. His head mulls over all of the possibilities, knowing that Miklan’s thought them over too. _Miklan thinks of you._ It’s so obvious and he’s already been told, but seeing it proven again and again—just knowing that Miklan’s also considered all of these outcomes and wants to see him happy and healthy… Christophe nods his head slow.

“I’d love to live with you,” he utters. “You’re already my home.”

The relief that washes over Miklan when he hears _I do_ is indescribable. Christophe can probably feel the weight behind his hands change, the way he seems to push him closer subconsciously as if the acceptance had fueled the desire for closeness. He releases a breath that shakes with relief and emotion. _Thank god, thank god, thank god._

Miklan isn’t a man who cries often, not by any means. It’s not that he _can’t_ , more that he doesn’t feel the urge to - not really. Years of repression and feeling weak for it thanks to his father are to blame, leaving him with reservations about showing vulnerability that can be picked apart and scrutinized, assuming anyone bothered to care at all. Tears are an emotional giveaway. Tears are obvious. And yet when Christophe continues so sweetly, tells Miklan that he’s _home_ in human form, it makes him teary eyed before he can do anything about it. If nothing else, he’s thankful that he can’t be seen from this position, the way that his whole face twists into something touched and pathetic. He never has been a pretty crier.

“Fuck, Chris.” He manages, voice thick with emotion when he brings a hand to the back of his head, combing his fingers through his hair once more. He wants to say so much. He doesn’t want to say anything. Miklan swallows, hard. Does his best not to sniff in Christophe’s ear. “I’d love if you did. I fucking love _you_. You’re so good to me.” _You always are._

For all of the high strung emotions that have been going on lately, all of them leading in a positive direction but highly charged all the same, Christophe feels utterly drained. He feels at peace. He drapes himself over Miklan like a sleepy puppy almost. You’d feel that way too, probably, if you’d just had the day he had: went off his rocker, opened up, started a relationship, cried his eyes out, was a _bottom_ , was emotionally vulnerable in a thousand different ways before cleaning himself and everything else up after.

This is all to explain how wonderful it is that Christophe _isn’t_ the one sobbing all over, for once. He’s feeling collected, cherished, wanted. Christophe smiles as Miklan holds him closer, wholeheartedly not expecting the response that he gives. It’s brimming with heart, spilling over with the kinds of feelings Miklan tries his best not share. He wasn’t lying when he’d said, _loving you’s an honor_. Christophe finds himself truly blessed that Mik feels okay to be open with him. The sound makes his body weak. Chris wishes he were softer, less stick-bug, something Miklan could hold onto like a teddy bear whenever he needs to.

He could say something about the tears, but he knows better than anyone else not to punish what you want to see, and he wants to see more of this: not Miklan crying per se, but Miklan feeling allowed to emote, feeling allowed to… well, feel. Christophe grins, wiggling as Miklan cards his hand through Christophe’s hair.

“Oh, Mik,” he breathes kissing at his shoulder. “You deserve good things.” Then he’s squeezing tighter around his neck, embracing him fully. “If you want to wake up to this every day, you can. If you want…” Christophe chuckles, holding himself back from that famous laugh of his. “If you really want me in your house, making you froot loops chicken every morning, you _must_ love me a lot.”

“Shut up about froot loops chicken,” he says, but it comes out almost like a wail, a cry and a laugh that are fighting against one another.

This _is_ exactly what he wants, he’s sure of it. Long ago Miklan dreamed of domesticity. He might even go as far to say that it’s all he’s ever wanted, having prayed for a home away from home during lonely nights as a child despite being plainly told he was incapable of truly loving, having made plans for it once upon a time that never came to fruition due to the world’s cruelty. Nobody would think Miklan to be the type to want to settle, and yet it’s sincerely all he’s ever craved. Stability. To love, to be loved. He can’t be blamed for being emotionally overwhelmed now that it’s finally becoming a reality with someone who cares about him just as much as he cares about them.

“I do. I want to.” There’s the sniff he’d been denying. Christophe’s squeezing him tighter and he doesn’t fight back, leaning his head against the others. He doesn’t have it in him to be self conscious of the tears falling against bare skin, because it’s so obvious Chris doesn’t mind. He isn’t about to be made fun of. He isn’t about to be berated. Christophe doesn’t judge him like other people do, only offers boundless support and distractions when Miklan needs them most. He makes a bleary world a little brighter. “Whenever you’re ready for it… I’ll help you move. No more staying in places like this.”

_It’s about time we both had good things._

Christophe can’t fucking help it. That ugly laugh rises up out of his throat as Miklan wails at him. He cackles and then he’s kissing all up and down Miklan’s neck with furious abandon. This is _his_ man to make ugly food for. This is _his_ man to kiss until he’s all red like a rutabaga. He’s going to make sure that every single day he wakes up, he knows he’s got someone in his corner. He always has. Christophe had felt only apprehension when the thought came to roost in his brain: settling down, having a home again, but there could never be anything scary about this, about being here with Miklan, wrapped up in his arms so tight.

What he really hadn’t considered though, was that Miklan would feel just as strongly about all of this as Christophe himself did. It reassures him more than he could possibly say. It doesn’t feel so much like charity anymore, when Miklan’s beside himself, overcome with emotion at the thought of Christophe moving in with him. It’s the near polar opposite of what he’d been expecting. There’s warm salt dotting Christophe’s shoulders and he wonders when it’ll be okay to lean back and see his face for himself, to wipe his tears off. He’ll wait, give him some time to breathe. The least he can do is let him get it out without feeling watched.

“I can get out of here in a few days,” Christophe says. “Three,” he specifies, one of his hands sliding through Mik’s orange hair, coarse but pleasant on his fingers. “…Thank you, Mik. I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> my friend and i continued to roleplay these two for well over half a year, and so it's impossible for us to catalogue every conversation and every rp. the fic ends here but they moved in together and fell in love. thanks for reading!


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